


Foreign Dignitaries

by Lumicrystalline



Series: HS Space Ambassador AU [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Different Routes, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gender Neutral Pronouns, Harem, Humor, I do what I want, M/M, Multi, Nicknamed Reader, Reader's called Twix so that I can write this in 3rd person, Slow Burn, The Hemospectrum, We're space ambassadors today, there's a rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-13 01:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 51,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21486061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumicrystalline/pseuds/Lumicrystalline
Summary: [Unfinished, currently being rewritten. The rewrite's called Foreign Ambassadors]Humanity's space travel has progressed thousands of years in the future. The Empress of the Alternian Empire finally extends an invitation to Earth, for humans to send their finest to Alternia over a year-long journey.A former space captain nicknamed "Twix" would just like to leave the past behind. Still, in their new career as a photographer, they manage to wind up as part of the crew sent to Alternia to forge a peace treaty.It's tricky business trying to stay out of the spotlight when you're one of the only 5 humans on an alien planet, but bad things happened the last time they were in the thick of things. Twix agreed to come on the condition that their role would be documentation from the sidelines; the rest of the crew could handle the politics.The only problem is that annoying trolls and Twix's own temper keep getting in the way of their work.
Relationships: Executioner Darkleer/Reader, Grand Highblood (Homestuck)/Reader, Neophyte Redglare/Reader, Orphaner Dualscar/Reader, Spinneret Mindfang/Reader, The Disciple (Homestuck)/Reader, The Dolorosa (Homestuck)/Reader, The Psiioniic | The Helmsman/Reader, The Signless | The Sufferer/Reader, The Summoner (Homestuck)/Reader, Troll Ancestors (Homestuck)/Reader
Series: HS Space Ambassador AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663006
Comments: 18
Kudos: 92





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> //Back at it again with another Homestuck fanfiction because the one I abandoned a few years ago brings me physical pain to read and I've drifted back into the fandom. I've had a lot of fun writing this and breaking every bit of canon that displeases me. This will probably have multiple endings and is also posted on Quotev. Enjoy!

Humans had always loved the stars. As they progressed, building empires and destroying them on their tiny planet, they watched the stars and waited for the stars to come to them. Wondered if they ever would.

Even as they realized that their world did not turn for them, that it would keep on turning even after they were gone and that the stars would come and go without any regard or feeling for their observers, they loved the distant lights all the same.

Humans are creatures of extremes, known to love and hate passionately. And they did not like to wait. They launched themselves past the confines of their planet with fire and force. They began to reach out, and those that had watched the birth of their planet retreated uneasily. They could not evade humanity forever. This infant civilization made themselves known, were always looking, always curious, so desperate for answers that eventually the White Queen of Prospit figured she had observed all she could from afar. At the outrage of the Black Queen of Derse, she ordered her pawns to make peaceful contact.

For fear of the Prospitans finding an ally in the humans, the Black Queen also established a connection. Even going so far as allowing the humans into her kingdom.

A hundred years passed since the humans were first introduced to the two kingdoms of the Incipisphere and their war over Skia. For a hundred years they managed to maintain a tenuous truce with both Prospit and Derse without being thrust into their war. In the meantime, humanity was always looking to extend their reach of the universe. Humans wanted knowledge. They wanted peace. They figured that through power they could achieve both. 

Finally having answered the question of whether or not they were alone in the universe, they were not satisfied. They adapted, they overcame, and still wanted more. They pushed out before Derse nor Prospit, occupied with their longstanding stalemate, could guess what they planned. This was when humanity finally, accidentally, discovered the Horrorterrors of the Furthest Ring.

They were afraid, yes. But they were fascinated. Of the small crew that stumbled upon the eldritch monsters more than half succumbed to madness.

But they returned, to the shock of the kingdoms of the Incipisphere. And they had learned.

For an entire hour, the battle raging on Skai halted. Both sides retreated to opposite sides of the board. 

Agents of both kings and queens descended upon the small ship before it could return to Earth, demanding the crew share their newfound knowledge.

The captain, (f/n) (l/n), was the only one still able to speak, though not intelligently through their terror. Though the entirety of Derse, Prospit, and Earth knew that something groundbreaking had transpired, any details about the events were kept under close wraps by the higher powers of all three planets.

Her Imperious Condescension finally saw fit to break her silence. She left an invitation. A small party of Earth's finest would be welcome to Alternia.


	2. We're here

### Twix

Captain Jane Crocker, Roxy Lalonde, Dirk Strider, Jake English and (f/n) "Twix" (l/n) were representatives for the entirety of Earth and its inhabitants. 

They were good people, Twix knew. They just wouldn't say that the group, of course including Twix themselves, qualified as. . . "Earth's finest." The crew had become fast friends over the course of the journey to Alternia, but Twix had to admit each individual was a hot mess in their own right.

Their ship, _The Lover_, was small, but it was fast and sleek and suited their needs perfectly. It also happened to be the most advanced ship Earth had yet to produce, so it immediately became Dirk's pride and joy despite the fact that it had really just been lent to them.

An hour before _The Lover's_scheduled descent onto Alternia, Dirk left the auto-responder in control and gathered with the rest of the crew to watch their view of the capital of the troll's interstellar empire. For a long time, they were silent.

"It's certainly. . . different," Jake murmured.

"It looks so dark," Twix said. 

The surface of the planet was a scarred gray. No blue of water, no white of clouds, though the file Twix had received before departure assured them that Alternia had both of these things. To the planet's right, a small pink moon, and to their left, a slightly larger green moon. Their vibrancy was a stark contrast to that of Alternia. There had been nothing in Twix's file about these, so they assumed that Her Imperious Condescension had chosen not to mention them. All humanity knew about the planet was what information she had included in her invitation.

When everyone else had a proper look, Twix shooed them aside and snapped several pictures from the window.

The ambassadors were light-years past any connection to Earth, and part of their mission was to compile reports and gain as much information as possible. The kingdoms of Propsit and Derse were located roughly halfway between Earth and the newly discovered Alternia. Allegedly, officials of Earth tried to coerce both kingdoms into aiding the expedition, despite their clear vow on avoiding contact with the trolls. Willingly or not, Prospit had agreed to send one messenger to collect the ambassador's reports and send them to Earth after half of their stay had gone by.

Prospit and Derse had been trying to convince Earth to join one of their sides for a hundred years. Prospit's aid might have been a calculated investment in the good will of Earth, but all anyone could do was speculate.

As the ship drew closer and closer to their given coordinates, the crew split in a last-minute rush to look presentable. Twix stood before the mirror in their quarters, eyeing their pristine white uniform. Made of a soft, durable fabric that they hoped didn't stain too easily, the uniform was made up of a trenchcoat they left unbuttoned, a turtleneck they tucked into fitted pants, and sturdy-looking boots. The only splash of color on their entire person was an enamel badge depicting Earth. The pin read: "Peace, Prosperity, Pursuit of Knowledge" 

A fine mix between formal and functional, they hoped. There were actually many variations of the uniform provided for each person on the ship, the crew able to mix and match as they pleased. Hell, Twix even spotted a cocktail dress and a white tuxedo in their closet.

They took a few steadying breaths before the mirror, nervously smoothing nonexistent wrinkles in their clothing, but every thought of the fast-approaching planet outside their window sent their heartbeat skyrocketing. Twix could only sigh, flick off the lights, and go out to meet the others.

"So, I'm really nervous," they said in place of a greeting.

Roxy only laughed. She had opted for a white belted dress that buttoned down her side and a pair of heels. "You're stuck with the rest of us so you might as well not worry!" She took a sip of a martini.

"Wow, I don't agree-- and where did you get that?"

"She's had a bottle all along." Dirk ducked out of his room and the door slid shut behind him. He looked a lot more. . . comfortable, in a white collared T-shirt, black slacks and a grey baseball hat. The shades were there, too. "And now you gotta swear to secrecy with the rest of us, because it'll be all our heads if they find out back home."

"I-- okay. Fine." Twix ran a hand through their hair. What impression were they going to make? "Just please don't get drunk. We have, hey Auto Responder, how much time do we have?"

Dirk's voice sounded throughout the room, but it wasn't him that spoke. "About fifteen minutes. Ten, maybe, if someone wouldn't mind allowing me to speed things up a little."

"No," Dirk said immediately.

Roxy rolled her eyes and started off down the cramped hallway. "Yeah, Yeah. Come on, I'll set it down and save it for our victory." Passing by an improvised coat rack constructed by Dirk, (it had rocket thrusters for no discernible reason) she grabbed a light pink scarf and wound it around her neck, managing to swirl the martini without spilling any on her dress. 

Twix decided not to get on her for breaking the white-black dress code. When they turned the corner into the kitchen, their captain nearly dropped the cake she was taking out of the oven. Her eyes found the martini. "Roxy!"

"She's already agreed to put it away," Twix defended her. "And. . . why are you baking a cake now?"

Jane sighed and her blue eyes moved onto Roxy's scarf.

Roxy sighed louder. "O-_kay_. I get it. Rules and all." She begrudgingly set the martini down and unwound the scarf. "But if we meet these trolls and it turns out they're cool with it, I'm putting this back on."

Jane, in a simple white dress and a white beaded necklace, put the cake next to Roxy's glass. "Thank you, Roxy. And as for the impromptu baking, well, I have to admit to being a bit jumpy."

Dirk jerked a thumb in Twix's direction. "They are, too, but you both always kinda had your panties in a twist."

"Excuse you!" Twix replied without any real malice, "But you're a little too relaxed! We're going to land down there, the doors will open, and these aliens will immediately recognize you as a douchebag. No cultural divide can stop that. We'll have to put you in the back."

Emotionless, Dirk reached over and ruffled their meticulously arranged hair. Twix squawked in outrage, annoyed enough that they forgot the task that rested on the crew's shoulders for a few blissful minutes. They joked around with Dirk, Roxy, and Jane as they had during the entirety of the year-long journey.

In the hallway behind them, a thump, a crash, and the sound of a struggle made the crew halt.

"Bollocks! Auto-Responder, how long until we land?" Jake's familiar accent could be heard even through the walls.

"Five minutes. One if someone would let me speed things up a little."

Twix's anxiety returned in full force.

"Bollocks."

"Jake, you alright?" Dirk made to step around the corner, but Jake replied quickly.

"Yes, yes! By any chance--" The sound of a door sliding open, and Jake stepped into view a few moments later "-- has anyone seen my other pistol?"

"Coat rack," Dirk said. 

Jake turned and made a hum of affirmation. When he returned, waving both pistols triumphantly, Twix saw that he had made a rather interesting choice of uniform. A white vest, which for some reason he put his belt on top of, and white pants tucked into a pair of black galoshes. The bowtie was a nice touch.

Jane had tucked her oven mitts away into a drawer and was trying to shoo everyone out of the kitchen. "Jake's got the right idea. We need our weapons, everyone, hurry. Always better safe than sorry."

Roxy simply turned, opened the cupboard behind her, and pulled out a rifle as tall as she was. Dirk opened the refrigerator, slamming it shut again before the blades inside came crashing out. 

Twix and Jane met eyes in exasperation. Dirk sheepishly withdrew his favored katana before firmly shutting the refrigerator door.

"Yeah. I'll clean that when we get back," he assured.

"From now on, no weapons in the kitchen! Out, out!" 

After some frantic searching, Jane chose to go without weapons after all. Her excuse was that in a pinch she could improvise, though a fight would not be the good first impression they were hoping for. Twix believed this, but everyone saw when her odd spoon/fork switcheroo thing was discovered jammed under a slew of various knives and swords criss-crossing in the fridge (Though nobody seemed to remember exactly how it got there). Jane was cheesed, but they were short on time so she left it with an unimpressed glance at Dirk.

As the crew stood before the ship's main doors and waited for the Auto-Reciever to make its final descent, Roxy elbowed Twix. "Whaddya got?"

"What?"

"What are you bringing?"

"Nothing but my wit and this knife in my boot." When Twix removed it to show everyone, Roxy raised her eyebrows.

"Well. That's a small knife."

"We're here to make a peace treaty," Jane interjected, not without humor, "And I'm sure Twix's sharp wit will make up for it."

Twix winked in appreciation. "And I have a camera, I guess. I have to find out where I can set up my equipment."

It wasn't one of the bigger ones that had to be hefted onto a tripod and came with a dozen huge lenses to be switched in and out. This one was light enough to be strung around the neck or slipped into a pocket, barely the size of a hand with three retractable lenses they were too scared to breathe on. Twix thought of the compact device to be made in part as a fashion statement with how sleek and fragile it was, but it was a nice camera all in all and a gift from none other than Roxy's mother. It made them a little dizzy to hold it and think about its price, sometimes.

"Landing right about now," the Auto-Responder warned.

"Alright everyone, a little review?" Jane called, "Our goal is to form peaceful relations. No fighting. Be nice. We have been specifically instructed not to start an intergalactic crisis. More secretly, take a gander and find out as much as you can about the trolls, their society, and their planet."

Nods and noises of affirmations all around the room. The air buzzed with anticipation.

Finally, _The Lover_ set down. The doors opened too soon, sending black dust like ash billowing in to choke the room. Dirk cursed the Auto-Responder, but he did not reply. Coughing and waving it away, Twix could only hope that the file had not been wrong, that the air was suitable for human lungs.

But the dust cleared and "Earth's Finest" stepped out onto Alternia without any further problems. It was the dead of night. The air still smelled of smoke. Twisted trees surrounded them, their colors muted, blocking out the stars. Twix heard the crash of waves not far behind their backs. Tiki torches lit the clearing around them, shadowed figures standing just outside the light.

Twix didn't like that at all. Why hide?

They immediately noticed one troll before them because of his sheer size. He lumbered out of the shadows, a massive club in each hand, until stopping a yard before the crew. Easily eleven feet tall without the twisted horns or mess of matted hair, the troll's grey face was messily painted in a white design that resembled a clown's. He wore a black vest and armbands lined with purple bones longer than Twix's arm. His muscles told Twix that he could crush any one of the humans without any effort. His leer, Twix realized as the massive troll studied the ambassadors, might have very well meant that he would.

_You're being paranoid._ Still, Twix had to glance over at their crew and find comfort in their presence.

"Wvelcome to Alternia, travwelers."

To the clown troll's left, another troll, finely dressed in black and purple, approached the group. He seemed to be more refined than the other, but still held the roughness of a warrior. Gold glittered around his neck and fingers. In his hands, an electric blue speargun. Orange horns like lightning strikes swept backwards from his forehead. He had fins in place of ears. The shadows didn't hide the twin scars etched gracelessly across his face.

"We are the ambassadors of Earth," Jane said calmly. "I am Captain Jane Crocker."

"Roxy Lalonde, expert in computer technology, Ectobiology, and Earth biology."

"Dirk Strider. Robotic Engineering and artificial intelligence."

"Pleased to meet you, I'm Jake English, expert on Earth's weaponry and former adventurer."

"T- (f/n) (l/n)." Fuck. Twix could see from the way the scarred troll's mouth curved upwards that their mistake had been noted. "I'm a photographer."

The massive troll's fangs gleamed when his smile stretched wider. His voice was booming. "We all up and doing introductions? I am the Grand Motherfucking Highblood."

Well, obviously there had been no need to worry about being prim and proper. Twix forced their expression to lie flat, tried to ease the tension out of their body. From the corner of their eye they could see Dirk was absolutely excelling at it.

"I am Orphaner Dualscar. A Highblood of the vwiolet caste," said the other with smug pride. He didn't bother explaining what a Highblood was. "Her Imperious Condescension is unable to be present. She looks forwvard to seeing you attending the festivwal for 12th Perigree's Evwe." 

"And what is that?" Jane asked.

"A wvery notable troll holiday." An unimpressed pair violet eyes glanced at Twix. "Wvould you like to write this down? There wvill be a grand festivwal in the capital city, and a ball in Her Imperious Condenscion's hive. For a little more peace and quiet, Her Imperious Condescension has decided that you stay here until then. Your accommodations are in my owvn hivwe."

"Where are we, then?" Jane asked. She was still keeping a sweet expression, but Twix recognized the underlying irritation in her tone. 

Dualscar seemed to recognize it too. His fins flared, once, before he smiled wickedly and flattened them again. "A coastal city. As I am a seadwveller, I enjoy a proximity to wvater."

The Grand Highblood yawned noisily, startling everyone. "This motherfucking talk is boring me. You fuckers are dismissed. I'll be back, but I have more exciting business to take care of." He hefted his massive clubs. "Then we'll take care of our own sweet business."

Dualscar bowed his head. "Highblood." After the Grand Highblood had stomped away, the sound of his footsteps continuing longer than the sight of him, Dualscar raised his head. "Followv me."

He turned, and all at once the unseen trolls lit lanterns, bathing the clearing in light. They kept their eyes on the ground, their heads bent, and arranged themselves in lines on either side of the humans, herding them in.

The crew looked at one another in uncertainty and anger. This wasn't the treatment of guests. It was more like they were prisoners.

"Well," Jane muttered, her brow furrowed, "Let's not dally any longer."

They followed Dualscar in a procession of pairs. Jane walked alone but for a troll servant on either side of her, then Dirk and Roxy, then Jake and Twix. Twix studied the servants as lights in the distance grew closer. Many of them wore roughly made shifts and trousers, plain black but for a large symbol on their chest. Some wore a dark red symbol, others an orange or a brown color. All of the trolls had black hair, gray skin, and orange horns. 

Twix caught the eyes of the servant to his right. They were a fearful dark red on yellow. He looked away before Twix did. Both troll and human ensured it didn't happen again for the remainder of the walk.

From what they had seen, Twix had to guess each color represented different levels of a hierarchy. There was the Grand Highblood, dressed in purple. Dualscar, dressed in violet, had called himself "highblood" as well. From the way he had showed respect to The Grand Highblood, the seadweller was below him. It could be the literal color of a person's blood that dictated one's place in this alien society.

Twix wondered where bright red placed as the trees gave way to a manicured garden. 

Despite being a hulking, gaudy thing, Dualscar's "hive" was an architectural marvel. Fountains and waterfalls flowed over floors stacked up impossibly high. Arching windows and elegantly curving balconies allowed many a chandelier to cut through the darkness outside. There was gold absolutely everywhere and no shortage of purple, either.

_What a waste._When Twix tried to convey this thought through a glance at Jake, the man only shrugged helplessly.

Dualscar seemed to expect the humans' awe. He turned slowly, one arm outstretched lazily while the other gripped the speargun. "Wvelcome to my hivwe."

Silence. Not the good kind. Twix was too slow to mask their expression, but none of the others made any real effort.

Dualscar's expression darkened. The servants fidgeted frightfully.

Twix could just feel Dirk winding up to say something stupid and sassy that would probably cause the intergalactic crisis they were warned against. So they spoke up instead. "Very nice."

The full weight of Dualscar's stare rested on Twix. They could feel the kind of indignation that fostered dumb courage rising, bubbling up inside. They were there to talk peace, found friendships. They were there to learn, to share knowledge between their own species and a vastly older and more technologically advanced alien society. Not to suck up to this glorified bastard.

_This bastard is part of that society_, Twix reminded themselves. Sucking up, to an extent, wouldn't harm humanity in the long run. So they forced a dreamy smile, lightened their tone to the awe Dualscar wanted. "You must be very rich, Mr. Dualscar. Are you royalty?"

That saved the day. Dualscar smirked. "Wvhy, yes. Join me for dinner, and wve will talk, my most esteemed guests. My servwants wvill showv you to your Respiteblocks."

A sweep of his purple cape and he disappeared into the hive. The servants immediately split from their formation around the humans. Some entered the hive through a discreet door a respectable distance away from the imposing double doors Dualscar had burst through. A handful whispered furiously among themselves before a troll with wide horns like a bull's ducked outside through the servant's door. The remaining servants finally fled, darting around him and into the smaller door as if they were fearful he would lash out.

This troll didn't carry himself like Dualscar or the Grand Highblood, as if the world was his for the taking. He approached on soft feet, never meeting anyone's eyes despite being a head taller than any of the humans or their long-gone escort. He wore a bronze Taurus sign on the front of his black vest. Red threaded the spikes of his black hair, and his jeans had red tears across them.

Twix had to believe the meekness was an act. There was no way this troll had not received any combat training, from the subtle stance he took when he stopped before the humans to the way his body rippled with muscle. If he had a weapon in his hand and decided at any moment to be hostile, he might have been a match for the entire crew at once. He had to be well aware of it, yet he bowed his head at the ground as if he were two feet tall.

Twix acted without thinking this time. "Hello. We're the human ambassadors." They held out a hand. The troll stared at it blankly. "Ah, sorry. It's a human greeting. Take my hand, if you want." They tried for a reassuring smile.

The troll's hesitation lasted long enough for Twix to have deep regrets. When they began to draw their hand away, he took it. Though his hand was twice the size of theirs (_No-fucking way he is not a warrior_), he held Twix's gingerly. He finally met their eyes.

This time, the human's grin was real as they pumped their joined hands once. "I'm (f/n) (l/n). And you are?"

". . . They call me the Summoner," he said, losing the soft tone. He clumsily repeated the handshake with a fierce grin. It was a welcome change to his demeanor before.

"Nice to meet you, Summoner." 

"I-- thank you." The Summoner's grip slackened in surprise, and Twix took the opportunity to withdraw their hand.

Jane laughed, shattering the previous tension. She introduced herself merrily. The Summoner blinked when she told him that she was the captain, but he retained respectful silence as Dirk, Roxy, and Jake continued down the line.

"I'm to show you to your respiteblocks. Dualscar has provided you with clothing. I will collect you again for dinner," he said when they were finished.

"Lead the way, then," Jane said.

They followed him through the servant's door, after an awkward pause when the Summoner's horns knocked against the doorframe painfully. When Jake asked him if if he was alright, he looked at the human as if he had two heads.

They left a dim storage room and passed through a series of rising halls and over cramped stairs. Quickly, the walls became less narrow as the Summoner led them into a cavernous parlor and the parts of Dualscar's hive that were obviously meant to be seen. The rough stone of the servant's passageways gave way to pearly marble, gilded walls and luxurious rugs. The crew exchanged looks as they passed the odd painting of Dualscar, vases spilling with treasure, and room after pointless room stuffed with expensive furniture and weapons. The other servants had made themselves scarce. There was no sound but the flow of water and the click of their footsteps.

When Twix couldn't bear the quiet any longer, the Summoner stopped in a hallway lined with elegantly carved doors. "Please take a respiteblock of your choosing, esteemed guests. I will escort you to dinner."

He didn't make a move to leave, only stared at the ground with his head bent. Roxy shrugged at Jane and swept into the first room. The rest of the crew followed filed into their own rooms with a chorus of thank-yous directed toward the Summoner.

Twix was the last at the Summoner's side. "Have a nice night," they said quietly, hesitating before striding after Roxy. It felt as though something else needed to be said to the troll. The human filed the thought away for later.

Just as they suspected, the accommodations were huge and every bit as outrageous as the rest of Dualscar's hive. As Twix shut the door behind them, they realized that the L-shaped room branched off into different sections and doorways. This was an entire suite complete with a fireplace, plush velvet sofas, and a balcony with a view of the stars. Twix whistled lowly. The space managed to be too open and vulnerable for their taste while also tacky with clutter.

"Hey Roxy," they called, "Mind if we share a room?"

"Yeah, sure! Just come over here and get a load of this!" came Roxy's voice behind a gilded folding screen. Some of the tension left Twix as they made their way over, stepping around a shelf laden with books and knick-knacks. The pelt of an enormous feline took up much of the floor space, and Twix edged their way around it in order to spare its luxurious white fur from boot prints.

"I'm just being a little paranoid, I guess. Man, this place is something-- What the hell?" They cut off when, pushing aside the folding screen, they were greeted with the view some kind of ugly alien slime tub.

"I know, right? First alien thing we've seen all day, besides the actual aliens, I guess." Roxy knocked on the bulbous purple shell. The green slime inside didn't budge. "What do you think it is?"

"No idea. It might be really valuable, though, if the other stuff around here is anything to go by. Let's not touch it."

"Anything you say, then." They carefully replaced the folding screen and Roxy reclaimed her gun from its place against the wall. She twirled it idly, like a cane. When she spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper. "I've checked for peepholes, cameras and recorders and haven't found anything, but I still think we're being watched."

Twix made a show of studying the garments provided by Dualscar. "Yes. We should talk to Jane soon."

Roxy and Twix ultimately agreed to come to the dinner as they already were. The shift, pants and shirt found draped over a chair were a poor fit for either human, and were most likely spare slave uniforms stripped of their signs. When the Summoner knocked at the door ten minutes later, Twix greeted him with a smile.

The Summoner nodded back. "Dualscar is ready for you."

"We're ready for him."


	3. Dinner with Dualscar

### Twix

Twix had expected the Summoner to simply lead the crew into another room in Dualscar's hive. Instead, them and Roxy were taken out the front doors and to a carriage pulled by two white horses twice the size of any found on Earth.

"Where is the rest of our crew?" Roxy asked sharply. She had taken a risk by leaving her rifle in the suite, and the loss had an effect on her nerves.

"They were taken ahead. Dualscar has seen fit to provide you with fine Alternian dining tonight. He thought this would be a fine introduction to the city."

"Taken ahead to _where?_"

Twix lay a reassuring hand on her arm, though they faced their own inner turmoil. They looked up at the Summoner beseechingly.

He bent his head apologetically. "Forgive me." He sounded like he meant it. "They are at a restaurant called The Cuttlefish, popular for seadwellers like Dualscar. I saw them off myself."

Twix sighed and looked at the carriage. It was black, discreet, with curtains drawn shut to keep out prying eyes. "Very well. Are you coming with us?"

The Summoner shook his head. Twix cracked a wry smile. "Have a nice night, then. I sure hope we do."

Roxy had composed herself. She winked, touched the hand Twix lay on her arm and they removed it. Her eyes were like steel, and her spine rigid.

_The dinner's going to be a breeze_, Twix thought. Especially with the rest of the crew there to deal with Dualscar. Twix themselves didn't have to do any talking; officially, they were only the photographer. Whatever experience they had in the past and however many times the Director winked while going over the terms of Twix's contract, they resolved to keep their mouth shut and ears open.

They left the Summoner at the door. Twix could feel his eyes on their back as they stepped into the carriage. 

The driver was a scowling woman clad in black and cerulean. Twix wasn't surprised when she didn't return their wave. Quickly, the door shut behind them and the carriage was off.

A quick search of the interior revealed no cameras or recording devices, but the two still spoke in hushed voices. They peered through the curtains in fascination as a long paved driveway brought them out of the isolation of Dualscar's property.

A short, peaceful ride through the trees brought them away from the city limits. A watchtower of black stone cast them in its shadow, but there was no telling who was looking out. It seemed to mark the city's rough border.

They passed the tower without consequence and soon entered a neighborhood filled with violet hives. Many of them were built so haphazardly Twix wondered aloud how they were still standing. Lavishness seemed to be a common theme. 

They began to see a wider variety of blood colors through the servants fulfilling their duties outside their masters' hives.

"Look, she's wearing green," Roxy murmured. She pointed at a troll with horns like question marks. The woman was wiping down the windows of another violet hive. Roxy nudged the curtain open a bit more, and the servant caught the reflections of the two humans in the glass. Twix threw the curtain shut, but not before she whipped around, horror on her face, to meet their eyes. Roxy cursed as the carriage passed by.

"We don't look all _that_ hideous," Twix said, "Do you think the Condescension even told everyone that we were coming?"

Roxy's brow furrowed. "If we were top secret, I don't think that Dualscar would be bringing us to this public restaurant. She must have been surprised."

They were more cautious from then on. Twix managed to sneak some pictures of the architecture, the sky, and the trolls themselves, but most were blurry and unfocused. Soon, the carriage brought them out of the residential area and into what looked like a marketplace. Here, the diversity was even greater, but each blood color seemed to be stuck in their own role. Violet, purple, indigo, cerulean, and teal, trolls wearing those colors always seemed to be in a position of greater power and wealth than others.

In the distance, Twix could make out a striped carnival tent surrounded by tall spikes. The moonlight provided their massive silhouettes, but neither them nor Roxy could make out anything clearer. 

"I dunno," she said. "I think I hear laughter."

With so many people milling about in the street, the ambassadors limited their observations to glances through a sliver of parted curtain. For the most part, they sat back and listened to the crowd's snatches of conversation just outside.

"Hey! Get out of the way, rustblood!" 

It was their driver shouting, Twix realized, when the carriage jerked and the horses screamed.

Roxy pushed them back into their seat. "Oh my god. I think we just hit someone," she whispered.

The driver's shouting silenced them. "You utter imbecile! You nooksucking piece of dirt! I have places to be, and look at what you've done!" There was a sound of a struggle, and a pained yell. The horses were restless.

Twix pushed the curtain aside. "What's the problem?" When there was no answer, they opened the door and jumped out, extending a hand for Roxy. Around them, the hustle and bustle of the street came to a complete halt. The crowd gave the carriage a wide birth, staring in shocked silence at the humans. Roxy gave them a strained smile and took it.

When the pair stepped around to the front of the carriage, Twix's eyes went past the sputtering driver and towards the troll laying on the ground. "Oh, fuck, he's hurt!"

"You're not supposed to show yourselves!" The driver hissed, trying to calm the horses as Twix brushed past her and knelt beside the troll. He had an olive symbol on his chest, like the troll woman they saw an hour before.

"What happened?" Roxy demanded. 

"Get back in the carriage!"

Roxy didn't need to shout at the driver, though Twix could tell without looking at her how she wanted to. She spoke lowly, "The sooner this man gets medical care, the sooner we can be on our way. Dualscar can wait for this."

The olive troll was lying on his side next to the carriage, eyes glazed over with pain and a hand pressed to his stomach. He seemed to snap out of his daze when he looked up at Twix.

"How badly are you hurt?" Twix asked him gently.

"What happened to _you_?"

Despite everything, that surprised a laugh of of Twix. "I'm an ambassador from the planet Earth. Pleased to meet you, though I wish it was under different circumstances. Can you let me take a look?" They pointed at the troll's stomach.

The troll jerked away. When Twix inched back respectfully, he spat olive blood onto the ground. "Just bruises. I'll be on my way now."

"Are you sure?"

Fear flashed under the troll's defensive front. "Do you plan on keeping me here? I need to get back to my master."

"No, no, I don't mean you any harm. Has to be some nasty bruises you've got. Let me help you up."

The troll did not take their hand. "Are you . . . pitying me?"

Twix struggled to find the right reply. "I-- well, you're injured. I'm just trying to do the decent thing."

The troll struggled to their knees, then stood against the wheel of the carriage. They glanced at the driver -- Roxy was still keeping her preoccupied -- and asked," What are you, again?"

Twix didn't try for a handshake, but offered a smile. "(f/n) (l/n). Human."

"Huh." The troll straightened and limped off without another word. The crowd parted for him. Twix quickly looked away, unsettled by the weight of so many gazes. 

The driver noticed the absence of the injured troll and opened her mouth to object, but Roxy cut her off. "It's called The Cuttlefish, yeah? We can just walk. No biggie."

"I-- I can't let you do that."

"I can see it over your shoulder. It's at the top of the hill. That's about a minute's walking distance."

"Nobody told us to keep hidden, and if that was ever the case, then it's no use now," Twix added curtly. "Let's just get this dinner over with. Thank you for your service."

"If you want, you can watch us until we're inside. Thanks, again!" Roxy linked arms with Twix and set off. "This is the worst scene I've ever caused," she murmured in their ear.

Twix was already so very tired. "The night's not over, so there's always time to one-up this."

The ambassadors kept their backs straight and heads held high as they made the walk towards the dazzling lights of the building with a neon pink cuttlefish motif. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, trolls cringing away from them as they drew near but staring holes into the backs of their white uniforms as they passed. Twix's shoulders were rigid, and Roxy's fingers twitched for the familiar weight of her rifle.

Twix only looked away from their destination once. A flash of a different color caught their eye and drew them towards a troll hunched in the shadows, hurriedly fixing their grey cloak. For an instant, they saw the bright red of the troll's eyes before a raggedy female with horns like a cat's ears moved protectively in front of him. Twix looked away from the intensity of her yellow and olive gaze.

In a minute that lasted an eternity, the scratchy Alternian writing underneath the cuttlefish sign grew visible and the pair had arrived. It looked as though there had been a line to get in before the trolls had realized their approach. Some were hostile and others shocked, but they parted for the humans all the same. The gilded doors burst open and a blue-blooded attendant stood as if unsure whether or not he was to fight them or throw himself down at their feet.

Twix gave Roxy an imperceptible nudge with their elbow. She breathed a curse but spoke without any weakness in her voice. "Hi, there. This is The Cuttlefish, right?"

The attendant nodded. Twix pretended not to notice that his hands shook.

Roxy continued with a polite twitch of her lips. "Great. We're here for dinner with Dualscar."

"Ah. Yes. Right this way. . ."

The attendant stepped aside and made an obvious effort to keep them from view of the other customers. They were taken through the kitchens, where workers stopped their toiling to stare, and traveled behind beaded curtains whenever possible. At last, they were taken into a sizable private booth where they found the rest of the crew and Dualscar.

The meal had already started. Jane's teeth were gritted under her smile and Dirk looked like he had no fucks left to give. Jake straightened his bowtie and gave Twix and Roxy a weary nod. They, too, had chosen not to wear Dualscar's provided clothing. The three were seated close together across from Dualscar.

Dualscar himself looked like a shark enjoying its kill. He patted his mouth with an embroidered napkin and greeted them with, "You're late."

No matter how rude she had been, or the way she had treated the poor sap they'd hit with the carriage, Twix worried that there would be bad consequences for the driver. "Forgive us. It took a little while longer to get ready than we expected."

Dualscar accepted the bald-faced lie and patted the velvet seat next to him with a sharp sneer that disgusted Twix. "Ya here nowv, ambassadors. Sit."

The booth was shaped like a half-circle that would have fit all of them comfortably if only the six were chummy. As they were not, a part of Twix died when they decided to make a sacrifice on Roxy's behalf and take the space available when Dualscar scooted aside. 

"You're sitting on my cape."

Twix was so busy trying to focus on the details of the etched marble table instead of Dualscar's presence that it took them a moment too late to respond. "Oh-- sorry." Judging by Dualscar's style, the cape alone was worth more than Twix's life. They hurriedly stood and tossed it onto the seatroll's lap. Dualscar glared down at them as if they had infected it.

"I see you've brought your weapon. Fancy bit of machinery it is," Jake said suddenly. Twix was infinitely grateful towards him. Sure enough, the blue harpoon gun was on Dualscar's other side. 

Twix raised their eyebrows. _A bit excessive, but I guess we should take it as a compliment._

"This little thing is Ahab's Crosshairs." Dualscar ran a clawed finger across the spear's tip lovingly. He was entirely too smug that they were talking about him. "It has slain many an enemy in my hands. And yes, it is a '_fancy bit of machinery.'_"

Jake leaned forward in his seat. He was interested now, and so was Roxy. In fact, the rifle looked like a more flashy version of her laser gun. "How does it work?" Jake asked.

Dualscar barked a laugh. "It wvould be morning until I found a way to explain it to you in a wvay you wvould understand. Perhaps wve wvill talk later."

What was the point of dragging them off to dinner if they weren't going to talk? First the manner of escort, then the shoddy clothing he had expected the crew to wear, and Dualscar still spoke to them as if they were nothing more than the dirt beneath his feet.

"Why do they call you Orphaner?" Twix asked. They met Dualscar's amused look without blinking.

"I provwide Her Imperious Condescension with lusii to feed her own. Sometimes I provwide the leftovwer trolls as slavwes to fellowv highbloods." 

Twix blinked and tried their hardest to make their expression and tone neutral. "So, there's slavery here, then?"

Dualscar shrugged a shoulder. "Yeah, usually don't bother with 'em. Servwants ya can get rid of at any time, but once you buy something it's yours until you sell it. More of a hassle than it's wvorth."

"Okay," Twix said quietly. "Explain to me how your society works. Is it based off of blood colors?"

"How perceptive. Are you sure no one has already told you? You're the. . . photographer, right, human?"

"No, no one has told me. Yes, I am the photographer. My name is (f/n) (l/n)."

Two bronze trolls arrived with food. There was more seafood than six people could ever eat, especially considering this was seconds for most of those seated at the table. Twix didn't want to bring themselves to stab what lay in their bowl. Something pale, slimy, and without eyes scuttled in circles, unable to escape. The food was only a temporary distraction, but Dualscar remained silent. Twix's blood boiled with every second he chose not the answer. Under the complete attention of the other five, Dualscar cut his blue salmon and gave what Twix swore was a smug twitch of his fins.

He was enjoying this. Twix wasn't impressed, and they wouldn't allow Dualscar the satisfaction of giving his desired reaction. This was not Dualscar being clever, as he probably thought he was, as much as it was just him being a dick. The human bowed their head in imitation of the submissiveness the Summoner had greeted them with, but their tone was anything but. "If you will not tell me, then I will speak to the other gentleman that greeted us upon our arrival. The Grand Highblood? In fact, I find that I am not hungry. Could you be so kind as to give me his whereabouts?"

Jake choked on a bite of his food, but that may have been because it was still squirming about on his golden fork. Dirk slapped him on the back until he recovered. '_Gutsy_,' Roxy mouthed behind a glass of water. Jane looked torn between being impressed and giving them cleaning duty for a month.

Twix felt pretty smug until they suddenly remembered their own promise about not getting too heavily involved with the politics or the talk. It was their own stupid temper. It was their old stupid habits.

Dualscar threw back his head and laughed roughly. "Gentleman? Wvhat's that supposed to mean?"

Twix waited impatiently for just a little longer, in case Dualscar decided to be somewhat helpful and answer one of their questions. Finally, the troll waved a hand and said, "The Grand Highblood is preoccupied. You wvere there wvhen he said so himself, and he does not like to be disturbed. Oh, you can try to talk up Darkleer, I suppose. He's a blue-blood that wvorks under him, an Executioner with a bowv and arrowv. Good luck making him say anything useful, though. Either he wvill refuse to speak to you because you don't have a place on the Hemospectrum or he'll just swveat and stammer awvay."

Twix nodded curtly. They'd dug their own grave, and now it was time to lie in it. "Thank you." They turned to the rest of the crew. "We will meet back on the ship?"

Dualscar interjected, "No, no. I insist that you stay in my hivwe. Or are yer respiteblocks not to your liking?"

"They're just fine. We thank you for your hospitality," Jane said evenly.

"Any other trolls you say we should meet?" Dirk asked, "It would be nice if there were any professionals in fields like ours."

"Oh, yeah. You're professionals. Wvell, it isn't an indivwidual the rest of you are looking for so much as someone with a specific blood color. In general, vwioletbloods such as myself enforce the dominance of highbloods and ensure the wvill of the Empress is followved. They givwe orders to indigobloods, and the indigobloods are abovwe ceruleanbloods, and so on and so forth. Some blood castes are more naturally suited to different positions in the military." Dualscar's glanced at Twix. "Wvhy are you still here?"

"Where is Executioner Darkleer?"

Dualscar sighed and shook his head before crooking a finger at a passing burgundy troll. Twix stood and got out of the booth as the server hurried over. Dualscar muttered instructions to the troll and sent her on her way. Then he turned to Twix. "There. By the time you return to my hivwe he will be there. Happy?"

"Very. Have a nice dinner." A nod to their friends and Twix strode away.

They had readied themselves to find their own way out of The Cuttlefish and walk all the way back to Dualscar's hive on foot, but were beyond relieved when the attendant from before caught them and escorted them to a familiar carriage through an alleyway next to the restaurant. 

"Hello, again," Twix greeted the driver in an effort to make amends.

"Hello?" she muttered in disbelief, "Human, I beg of you, do not cause a scene again. Get in the carriage."

Twix obeyed without another word. They had scarcely shut the door when the driver cracked the reins and they sped off down the street.

The photographer was left alone to let the consequences of their actions sink in.

"Stupid," Twix mumbled to no one, leaning back and squeezing the bridge of their nose.

_Way to go ahead and break all your rules just after making them. _At least they would get some kind of interview in, though Twix was by no means a journalist. _I'll just get his picture._


	4. Tea with Darkleer

### Twix 

Darkleer was a barrel-chested blueblood with horns like arrows, incredibly tense beneath his closely fitted black armor and strange combination of a circuited helmet and reflective shades. Not a bad look, but the accessories concealing his face were probably worn out of the necessity to keep his expressions in check rather than fashion. Across the table, he was sweating an alarming amount.

Twix had returned to Dualscar's hive ready to take Darkleer's picture, stand their ground, but most of all keep a cool head. They supposed they might as well try to wring some useful information out of him in place of the rundown of Alternian culture the rest of the crew was getting from Dualscar.

The Summoner was nowhere to be seen, a burgundy-blooded manservant there to meet Twix at the door and hurry them into a sitting room where the Executor waited.

Twix had actually greeted him as "Executioner".

"Ah, while that may be true, it is not, er, part of my usual title," said Darkleer absentmindedly, more focused on Twix's lack of horns, grey skin, sign, or anything signifying a blood color. Twix was surprised to find that the smooth voice did not match up with his appearance or ominous name. 

"I'm sorry, what is your title, then?"

"Executor Darkleer."

_Damn you, Dualscar._ "I am (f/n) (l/n), though I'm sure you already know that. I apologize for the wait."

". . . It was no bother." Beads of sweat were gathering rapidly at the back of Darkleer's neck. He was gritting his chipped teeth. Twix had never seen someone sweat so much, and they had hardly exchanged pleasantries. Maybe it was a troll thing. Maybe it was a medical condition. After an awkward pause, they pulled a handkerchief out of the inside of their trench coat and tossed it onto Darkleer's lap.

While Darkleer adjusted his shades to stare down at it, Twix cleared their throat and tried to act casual. "My colleagues keep calling me a pansy for carrying one of these around, but I think they're handy."

"Ah."

The servant lingering in the doorway couldn't have picked a better moment to swoop in and place an ornate tray with steaming teacups before them. Darkleer accepted the tea (at least Twix thought it was tea) from the burgundy servant with a nod. It was the most respectful Twix had ever seen a highblood act towards a lowblood, and that filled them with a little bit of hope.

Twix held their teacup daintily and considered the purple liquid swirling inside of it. Darkleer took a slow sip of his tea in their peripheral vision. When he was finished, they said, "I'd like to know more about Alternia and your society."

Maybe some small talk would help calm him down and give his sweat a chance to dry. Twix would have felt bad about springing a photo on him now.

The troll indeed seemed to have taken the silence to gather his nerves. "Where would you like me to begin?"

"Trolls seem to hold an importance over the color of someone's blood. Why?" 

"You are talking about the Hemospectrum. It is how we. . . classify trolls. Different bloodcolors tend to have different characteristics. Her Imperious Condescension has fuscia blood. She is most superior."

Twix was eager to know more, but sensed that rushing Darkleer would not get more answers out of him. Thankfully, they knew how to wield a smile. They asked, "What are some of these characteristics?"

"Well. Lowbloods are more likely to develop abilities than highbloods, but they are frail. The highest castes are seatrolls: the fuscia caste and the violet caste. Highbloods tend to have greater strength. My caste especially."

"That's interesting. Humans are different, but not like this. Give me some examples of abilities?"

"I have a question first. I do not know how to treat you. . . what is your standing?"

What were ambassadors to the trolls on this planet? _He wants to know my blood color_, Twix realized. He had been so reasonable towards them, and they weren't willing to let that change now. "If you don't know how to treat me," they said firmly, "Then treat me as an equal."

They looked steadily into Darkleer's shades, unsure whether he was looking back or not but wanting to make their point clear. Startled, Darkleer turned his head to the side and mopped his neck with the handkerchief.

"Forgive me," he said.

"Let's just move forward from this," Twix said gently. Darkleer had yet to keel over, so despite the sour smell wafting from the tea, they took a sip.

This was a mistake. Twix spit it back into a cup immediately. It tasted like someone had boiled the rust off of metal found at the bottom of a scrapyard and then added a cube of sugar. Twix blushed furiously, wiping the side of their mouth while being careful not to stain their white sleeve. "Like I said," they laughed, voice a bit higher than usual, "Let's move forward!"

Twix was positive they had blown any chance of respect from Darkleer, but the troll seemed at a loss of what to do or think. Eventually, he carried on as if nothing had happened. ". . . Yes. Troll abilities include different types of psychic abilities. Animal communication. Mind control, especially for ceruleanbloods. Many yellowbloods have psiionics."

"Wait, really?"

"Yes."

"That's amazing!" 

Darkleer tucked a strand of straight black hair behind his ear, tense again. "Most are lowbloods. They do not last long."

Twix's face grew more somber. "Because they are lowbloods?"

"Yes. They have significantly shorter lifespans. And they are dispensable."

"Oh."

From Darkleer Twix learned a very general knowledge of how Alternia operated, but it was the explanation they had been searching for. Sunlight, as it would turn out, was deadly to trolls. Looking directly into the sun caused immediate blindness, but the acid rain was apparently harmless. Beginning from the way troll grubs had to undergo trials to find a lusus after being born, Alternia very much operated by "Survival of the fittest". Highbloods were very keen on things such as "legislaceration" and "subjuggulation", and held the right to punish anyone they pleased for whatever reason they saw fit, so long as the victims were below them on the Hemospectrum.

"Legislation and subjugation?"

"Pardon?"

"Nevermind."

As Darkleer kept talking, it dawned on Twix with no small amount of horror just how much work the humans had cut out for them.

It was no wonder that Darkleer thought other trolls as nothing but commodities, or less than that. Still, as much as it pained Twix, they had to play nice. Steer away from the dangerous territory of their clashing ideals until the ambassadors could gather more information, lay it out and study it together. They could not hope to demand the trolls to change their way of life and then ask politely for a peace treaty. Hell, with how violent their society was, perhaps doing so would be enough cause for Alternia to declare war. "So you work under the Grand Highblood. Can you tell me about your job?" Twix asked.

The teacup shattered in Darkleer's clenched fist. Both troll and human watched the purple tea drip down his arm and into his lap.

In a flash, servants were there to sweep away the little glass bits on the floor and mop up the tea around Darkleer's boots. They kept their heads down, crouching low to the ground, and seemed too scared to risk touching him. As one servant hurried out of the room with the wet rag, the other knelt at Darkleer's feet, hands cupped for the glass shards still trapped in his fist. Mechanically, the blueblood opened his fist and said nothing as the she fled with the shards.

"Well, you weren't kidding about being strong." Twix stood and stepped around the table to take a seat at Darkleer's side before they could change their mind. He went very still. They tried to relax their body and seem as nonthreatening as possible. "Let's take a look at that hand?"

They were surprised when Darkleer actually gave it to them, albeit with an increase of sweat and grinding teeth. Beads of blue blood welled up in the lines of his large palm, white shards of porcelain more visible for their contrast. Twix picked them out with nimble fingers. "Don't tell me about your job if you don't want to. I'd just like to know when the Grand Highblood will be available. My associates would like to meet him."

"I. . . am unclear on my orders." Twix focused on cleaning Darkleer's cuts and Darkleer watched them work, made more nervous by their contact than his wounds.

"It's classified?"

"No. Not exactly."

There was one particularly stubborn shard that took some coaxing and pinching from Twix's part. Darkleer didn't flinch. "Something like an open secret? I don't understand."

"Er, no. It is not a secret at all."

"Could you direct me to someone that can let me know?"

"No one ideal."

"Executor, if it's not a secret and there is no one else that knows, can you tell me?"

"He is making rounds for lowblood criminals throughout the city," Darkleer blurted.

_Finally._ Twix glanced up in interest from their scan of Darkleer's palm. "When will he be back?"

"I do not know for certain, but he may return soon," he muttered. 

"I can work with that. Thank you. I think I've got all the glass taken out, but you should probably have someone else take a look at it." They didn't have another handkerchief to wrap his hand with, but Darkleer didn't give them time to find a solution.

He abruptly yanked his hand out of Twix's loose grip, casting a shadow over them as he stood. "I must make my departure. The sun will be out soon."

Twix nodded, but sighed inwardly. They never did get that picture. "Thank you for your time, Darkleer," they said. "Goodnight." 

There was a pause, but Darkleer turned and left the room without another word. The handkerchief was crumpled in his uninjured fist. Twix didn't miss the way his shoulders slumped in relief just before he rounded the doorway, a servant passing into view as they hurried to see him out.

_Did all of that really just happen? _Twix allowed themselves one disbelieving smile before they stood. Stationed at the doorway, a servant bowed her head and asked them if they were in need of anything. Her horns swept around her head like a halo.

Twix gave her a tired smile. "I'm just going to return to my room. Or respiteblock?"

"I will show you the way," the woman said softly. 

"Ah, thanks. This house, er, hive, is pretty big. I wouldn't trust myself not to get lost."

Though her bangs shaded her bronze eyes, Twix could have sworn she gave them an amused look.

Twix bid her goodnight as they reached the guestroom hallway. The sound of the door shutting behind them was the best thing they had heard all night.

The suite appeared untouched from how Twix and Roxy had left it, but they committed a thorough search anyways. Roxy's rifle lay on the fireplace's mantle just as it had the last time Twix had seen it. The curtains were drawn shut. They discovered one of the off shooting rooms to be a bathroom with a bathing pool big enough for the whole crew carved into the marble floor. _Certainly wouldn't mind giving that a try._

When the area was deemed safe, Twix removed their boots and coat, collapsing onto a violet loveseat in the main room. There had been a luxury bathroom, a bare walk-in closet, and two more rooms with the ugly slime tubs, but not a bed anywhere. No paper, either, but Twix had a little notebook and a pen tucked within their trenchcoat pockets. The events of the day were still fresh in their mind and they were itching to document them.

Their personal computer, in the form of a headband that wrapped around the side of their head and held a screen over their left eye, had been left on _The Lover_. The design was a bit clunky and Twix found it hard to focus on anything else when wearing it. The holo screen and keyboard were made faulty by time and use, but there hadn't been the time or funds to replace it before departure. They liked the action of writing on physical paper better, anyway.

Twix lost track of time scribbling in the notebook. Not an inch of space was wasted and the margins were a confusing maze of arrows and sidenotes, but there would always be time to organize them digitally on the trip home. For now, they threw down every minor detail and thought.

Twix had paused in the beginnings of a glossary of troll terminology, lulled to sleep by the late hour and the warmth of the fire, when the door burst open. Twix started, their hand going to the knife in their boot and realizing that they weren't wearing any.

"Oooooh my god, so glad you're alive, (f/n)," said Roxy's familiar voice, and Twix sunk back into the loveseat in relief when the crew filed into the room.

"Knock next time, would you? You scared the shit out of me. Good to see you, too though."

"Did you take a look around for any. . . funny business?" Jane asked, raising an eyebrow at the suite's decor. She looked beyond exhausted, all of them did.

Twix waved a hand. "Twice, now, and nothing's turned up. But you never know."

"This whole planet is a weird mix of pretty futuristic and behind on the times, at least by our standards. I mean, they have laser guns but get around in carriages." Dirk said. He turned his back to slip off his shades and massage his temples. "And that fucking royal fish guy."

"After you left we had to explain to him was a goddamn diplomat was--and there's my girl!" Roxy cooed at her rifle and swept it up from the mantle in a hug. "I've missed you, too! Argh, coulda used ya back there!"

Jake removed his rubber boots but kept his guns in their holsters. "There isn't a lock on the door."

"Yeah, I know," Twix said. "I was thinking about moving a table or something in front of it after you guys got back, but I wasn't sure."

"I'm always up for an adventure, but I'm just saying that the likelihood of us getting jumped is a whole lot greater if we stay here tonight," Jake muttered. He paced aimlessly towards the balcony. "And what's with it being dark inside all of the time? It's bloody morning, you can open a window and let in some fresh air--"

"Wait!" Twix called, but it was too late. In one fluid motion, Jake had thrown open the curtains. Through the glass balcony doors, the beginnings of a sunrise bathed him in bright white. "Don't look at the sun!"

Jake looked over his shoulder at Twix in confusion, not moving from his place. "Alright?" His skin didn't immediately blister into the terrible burns Darkleer had described.

"Are you feeling any pain?"

"No, I feel same as always."

Dirk came to his side and even swung open the balcony doors. Neither of them disintegrated under the harsh light. "Yeah, I feel fine, too."

Twix allowed themselves to relax. Them, Jane and Roxy joined the two on the balcony. The Alternian sun rose above the vibrant colors of the sky. It was a swirling ball of fire, bigger, brighter, and hotter than the Earth's sun, but the humans could apparently withstand its rays.

The crew passed Twix's notebook around. They swapped stories with the rest of the crew on how their respective meetings went. Jake, Roxy, Dirk and Jane had learned almost as much from Dualscar as Twix had from Darkleer, but it had taken them a good deal more needling and frustration.

"Darkleer said that trolls are like vampires. They'd die if they went out during the day," Twix said. "He was actually very well-spoken and polite."

"I'm surprised," Roxy said, leaning back on the metal railing and looking out into the sleeping garden, "Yeah, I guess we got some stuff out of Dualscar, but he all he really wanted to do was talk about himself and insult us. Without explaining anything. He got to be a little shit after you escaped."

"About that." Jane put her hands on her hips. "I'll give you a pass just this once, but Dualscar is high up in this society and we're probably going to have to kiss his ass for as long as we're staying in his house."

"Won't happen again," Twix reassured. 

She gave Twix a knowing look that wasn't unkind. They didn't like it at all.

They put their hands up. "I'm sorry. From now on I'm just going to be behind the scenes and stuff, and I really mean that."

"Oh, you don't have to-- okay." She took a moment to drum her fingers on the railing in thought before continuing, "Anyway, I say we should stay in this house for just this one night-- day --because Dualscar was so insistent on it. Tomorrow we'll give him any old excuse and make for _the Lover."_

This was met with agreement. When the crew decided to retire to sleep, Dirk and Jake disappeared into their chosen suite while Jane decided to take her own, despite Roxy's offers that they join her and Twix.

"Well, it's just you and me, Roomie," Roxy said after they had said their goodbyes. "I call this couch right here." She lay her rifle against the loveseat.

"Of course you'd take the best spot." It was all jest. Twix didn't think they could sleep anyway, with hunger gnawing at their belly and head filled with worries and half-baked plans. They had meant to take up a silent guard until sleep overtook them, but Roxy insisted on taking first watch instead.

"Get to sleep, idiot. I want to read your notebook all the way through. I'll even let you have the good spot."

There was no dissuading her. Twix handed Roxy both rifle and notebook. She settled in an overstuffed armchair with a view of the balcony and Twix took one identical, by the fireplace.

_This Grand Highblood guy better be the most reasonable fucking person_, they thought, before drifting off to sleep in Alternia's killer sunlight. _I'll make sure to get his picture_.


	5. The Circle Arrives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 2/11/2020: Spelling of names and taking away the obnoxious way I wrote Psiioniic's lisp

### The Psiioniic

The Signless's movement was gaining momentum. Trolls were listening to his preaching, if not by attending his meetings than by whispered recountings of those who managed to. His words found their way across cities and oceans, and not only lowbloods were beginning to see their sense. But for every highblood that appeared at a rally, many more still felt entitled to the privileges that the Hemospectrum granted them.

The Psiioniic knew that there was a give and take to this progress. Where before the Signless and his circle had been no threat, brushed off as exaggerated rumors, now highbloods gossiped about the bold mutant who needed to learn his place. The slaves that had been inspired to break free by his talk of freedom had been missed, and their owners were angry.

The group had to be more careful about where they went, and who they trusted. They found less places to stay, as trolls were fearful of the consequences of being associated with them. They had to spend less time at each stop. With trolls attending the rallies more than ever, it became difficult to find safe places to hold them. Signless had not preached in a highblood-dominated city for a long time. It was too dangerous.

Which was why the Psiioniic was shocked to hear him suggest that they enter a coastal city boasting both a large indigo residential area and the favorite haunts of seatrolls.

"No," the Dolorosa said curtly, before he could begin to gather the words to express how terrible an idea that was.

"Why do you want to go there?" the Disciple asked, peering up from behind her massive book. She was always ready to be convinced, and it was up to Dolorosa and the Psiionic to keep them from doing anything too crazy.

"Just hear me out," said the Signless. He raised both hands pleadingly, but the others had seen that exact approach used on hundreds of skittish trolls before.

"Nothing sane ever comes out of your mouth when you say that!" the Psiioniic butt in, but at Signless's gentle look he quieted down angrily to hear whatever he thought justified this suicidal plan.

"I think that there are a lot of slaves willing to listen to us there. Hardly any lowbloods in that city are free, and if they are they're starving on the streets. I think we can help them. Besides, it's so close and trolls go in and out of there every day for trade. We could have an easier time blending in."

"There are also a lot of highbloods there that want our heads on spikes!" Two sets of overlarge fangs made his words lisp together, and in his upset Psiioniic didn't bother trying to speak clearly around them.

"We may very well get caught," the Dorolosa added, crossing her arms. "Your safety is not only important to us, it's important to this movement."

"Please. I know we could get caught, but we're always on the run and always in danger. I'll be careful. We can leave at the first sign of trouble."

Signless was always for buckling down and facing their aggressors with kindness whenever it came to direct confrontation. Being on the run grated at him. His last sentence caught Dorolosa's attention by the way her stern face slightly softened. Psiioniic buried his face in his hands and groaned, "You can't theriouthly be conthidering thith!"

"We would all have to be _very_ careful," she said slowly, "Many trolls in this city will be in need of a safehouse, but if the wrong people hear about it then we've doomed hundreds. So many seatrolls are there to do business. There is a thriving slave trade and a prominent juggalo church in that city. Anyone would be ready to cull us."

Signless nodded grimly, then looked to the Disciple. "What do you think?"

The oliveblood put the tip of her cluckbeast quill to her lips and hummed. "Yes, it will be dangerous. But it will only get more dangerous for us from here on out. This might be our last chance to purreach to a large group of highbloods before they pick up the pace in their hunt for us."

"They. Already. Have." The Psiioniic could feel his red and blue eyes crackle with electricity summoned by his anger. "Our names are on posters. Subjuggulators are looking for us. People caught supporting us are culled."

Dorolosa sighed. "I don't like it, either. But Disciple makes a good point. I will agree to this only if you promise to be in and out like a squeakbeast. We leave at the first sign of trouble. Let the chaos start after we are long gone from here."

"I promise, 'Losa," Signless said, a slow grin spreading across his face. "We'll play it safe after this, for as long as we can." It faded when he looked over at Psiioniic.

Before Psiioniic could open his mouth in a full on rant, Signless's arms were around him. Disciple had put her book down and was looking at him with big eyes and clasped hands. The Dorolosa shrugged. He tried to remain swept up in his righteous fury, but Signless looked up at him and asked, "Please?"

Psiioniic knew that if he stood firm, Signless would abandon his plans to enter the city, at least for now. But he would nurture the idea in his head until he presented the group with more bullshit reasoning and they finally went through with it. "Fine. Fine!" he spat. "You better keep your gogdamn promises!"

"Shoosh."

They bid their time in their tents until the sun set. Then they packed up camp and made it to the city in half a night, checking into a single respiteblock in a decrepit lowblood inn. The whole way, Psiioniic brimmed with unease.

The lowblood slums were half the size of the highblood areas, but that was only estimation. None of them could go poking around the luxurious hives without being culled on the spot, and they had no reason to. The lowblood quarter where the inn was falling to ruin bordered the sprawling marketplace. The Disciple had been about to leave in order to scout the area for a meeting place when Signless volunteered to join her.

"Are you sure you can keep up with me?" she had asked, failing to hide her skepticism. While Signless had been hardened by life on the road, no one could move as swiftly or silently as she could.

"I know you can take care of yourself, but we should stick together. If we stay in pairs, at least, then we can watch each other's backs."

"I'm going too, then." Before the Psiioniic could cross the room to join them at the door, Dorolosa looked up from her sewing and fixed them all in place with her narrowed gaze. 

"Not all three of you can go. We're going to be discreet, remember?"

She agreed to Signless's reasoning, in the end. Psiioniic didn't bother arguing with her for more than a few sullen words, instead forming a combined effort to ram "_be careful_" into the other two's thinkpans. Signless agreed to stay out of trouble, but they all knew the likeliness of that was little to none.

Psiioniic didn't mind the Dorolosa watching out for him, or returning the favor. The bigger part of him doubted that they were more likely to be ambushed in the inn than the Disciple and Signless were out in the city. He hated every second that ticked by without their return.

"I worry, too," the Dorolosa said when three hours had come and gone. "But Disciple knows how to remain unseen."

"Signless doesn't," he grumbled, flipping a page in Disciple's book. He knew everything written in it, having experienced the stories himself, but there was nothing else for him to do but fidget and watch the moons outside their window.

"Come, now. It is usually my place to be inconsolable." He could tell Dorolosa was more concerned than she let on. Though she retained her outward poise, every so often she would mutter a curse under her breath and redo uneven stitching.

They heard their friends' return before they saw them. The entrance door in the lobby below burst open, rusty hinges squealing bloody murder. Psiioniic jerked, ripping a page in the book, and Dorolosa dropped her needle. It tumbled down to slip between the floorboards. Both of them were on their feet, claws and psionics at ready as two pairs of footsteps pounded up the ancient steps.

It was a stroke of luck that Psiioniic recognized them before he could blow their heads off when, stumbling through the door, Signless breathed, "Something important is happening!" at the same time Disciple said, "We found some strange trolls!"

"Are you being followed?" The Dolorosa asked curtly.

"No. But in the marketplace, there are two hornless. . . people. You need to see this," Signless said urgently.

"_Mutants_?" 

"I don't think so," Signless said. He looked as confused as Psiioniic felt. "They stepped out of a carriage, and they were wearing white. They were dressed too finely to be slaves. They went into a highblood restaurant at the top of the hill."

"I don't think we can purrsue them," Disciple said quietly, shutting the door softly behind her. "And I'm not sure that we should."

"Tell us exactly what happened," Dolorosa demanded. And they did. Every word gave Psiioniic a worsening headache.

"Are you _sure_ that you saw this?" he interrupted when Signless got to describing a fiasco with a carriage, an oliveblooded pedestrian, the driver, and the resulting argument between her and one of the "hornless".

"Yes," Disciple said impatiently, casting a wary glance at the curtained window, "And so did every other troll on the street. Everyone stepped aside for them. No one made a move."

"And the other one, in a long coat," Signless continued, "They talked to the oliveblood. They knelt down and held out a hand. We tried to find the troll, after they were gone, but we couldn't."

Dolorosa had taken a seat on the lumpy mattress. The inn was too cheap for sopor slime. "What kind of security is outside the restaurant? Perhaps we could return to that street and wait to catch a glimpse of them leaving."

"Some servants came outside and started waving their weapons around to scare us off. Some people got hurt."

"I think," Disciple said, "That they weren't supposed to be seen. The carriage was nice, but nothing special from the outside, as far as Highblood taste goes. The carriage was forced to stop early when the driver hit the troll."

"Let's go, then. Let's go see if they come out again." Psiioniic still didn't understand. How could these mutated, signless, maybe-trolls walk around with their heads held high when Signless had to keep his down for fear of being culled? "I'm still not entirely convinced that you didn't have any sopor slime."

"Let's be a little more inconspicuous," Dolorosa said dryly. "We've only just got here. It would be a shame if we had to leave again so soon, and even more of a shame if we were culled."

The group filed down the stairs and through the exit, Signless giving a sheepish nod to the innkeeper on the way out. Psiioniic kept his head down and eyes watchful as they left the trash-ridden alleyways and joined the marketplace crowds.

The expected hustle and bustle was muted. No one paid them any mind, preoccupied with muttering to their neighbors or watching the incoming flood of trolls curiously. Some shopkeepers made a valiant effort to call the influx of trolls to their wares. They were emerging downhill, moving away from the inner market streets, so Psiioniic figured that was where they were headed. The four of them were like a stone settled in a river, but the current of people was too strong to fight against. With the Disciple and Signless leading, they managed to find a corner to huddle out of the way.

"There's the place." Signless pointed over the top of a slanting shoeshop, where neon lights flashed atop the hill.

Dolorosa frowned at the trolls hurrying past them. "It looks as though they are evacuating the area."

"I guess we can find out." Psiisoniic pulled a passing bronzeblood aside and tried to come off as nonthreatening. "Excuse me. What happened?"

The bronzeblood balked under the attention of these trolls so much higher on the Hemospectrum, giving an especially dubious glance at Dolorosa before he remembered his place and cast his eyes to the ground. "I don't know. Something about foreign dignitaries at The Cuttlefish."

"Are they not allowing anyone near there?"

"I don't know anything about that, either. I'm leaving because I don't want to be around any trouble. Highbloods are mostly staying."

"Thank you." Signless said, smiling, and Psiioniic gave a nod. The bronzeblood took it as a dismissal and was gone with the last trickle of those leaving. In no time at all, any sign of their absence was replaced with more shoppers and trolls out to do business.

Signless readjusted his hood, giving the rest of them a meaningful look. "They're important. Definitely not slaves, then."

"We know nothing right now," said Dolorosa. "Those in power use rumors and misinformation as weapons." She tapped a claw against a rendition of the Condensce's silhouette stretching across the wall behind them. "When not using a more direct approach, I suppose."

"Well, onward, then! We're wasting moonlight!" The Disciple jerked her head towards the street impatiently.

"_Discreetly_," Dolorosa stressed. And they were off once more.

It was a challenge to weave through the crowded streets as a tightly knitted group. It was hard to watch where you were going, be wary of pickpockets, avoid making contact with highbloods, and keep an eye out for your friends all at the same time. To make matters worse, the stress was getting to Psiioniic. He had to maintain a tight leash on his power, lest he blow something up and toss discretion out the window.

A passing tealblood shoved Signless out of the way with nary a backward glance. Disciple caught him and pulled him to his feet in time for Signless to rush over to Psiioniic and calm the dangerous gleam in his red and blue eyes.

"Sorry. I'm fine," he muttered after forcing the sparks down. "How about you?"

"We've both had much worse," Signless said. The crowd was forcing them to move along, but not the direction they needed to go. The Cuttlefish was so close yet so far. In the distance, highbloods were patrolling the areas around it. "We should probably split up into pairs again. Disciple, could you take Dolorosa? Me and Psiioniic will meet you there. "

Disciple looked to the Dorolosa and nodded. "We will ask around for the oliveblood that got hit by the carriage."

"We can do the same. Be safe." 

"You, too," Dolorosa said grimly.

Disciple led Dolorosa towards a cramped alleyway with easy access to the sagging roof of a rickety building. Signless and Psiioniic agreed that their best option was to stay on the ground.

"I've been thinking," Psiioniic muttered next to Signless's hood as they continued the long trek uphill.

"Always a good sign."

"Shut up. I doubt that your 'hornless' are going to be making as dramatic of an exit, especially if they weren't meant to be them in the first place. I'm not saying it's impossible, but it's _nearly_ impossible that we're going to be able to catch them again. We probably aren't going to be able to walk right up to the restaurant, anyway. We're lowbloods."

"I think you're right. But it still doesn't add up. Why would they show up to a fancy highblood restaurant in the middle of a city if they were secret?"

"I don't know. Maybe they were having a meeting with highbloods. Highbloods like to show off. That bronzeblood we talked to said they were foreign and important, and they must be from pretty far away from here if they look like what you said. Maybe they aren't trolls."

That last sentence was so far-fetched that Psiioniic felt stupid suggesting it, but it made Signless stop for a minute, red eyes shining under his hood. Psiioniic tugged him along again before he drew any unwanted attention, leaning close to hear what he had to say next. "What if the Condense brought them here?"

Psiioniic knew where he was going with this and was entirely too cynical to believe it. "I guess she would have to know about them, and there's the fact that they are still alive and apparently well, but I doubt that her galaxy-conquering days are over. They aren't aliens. I regret saying that."

"What if there's a civilization too powerful for Alternia's armies? What if she has to sit down and work something out for once?"

"No one is too powerful for Alternia. That's why we never hear about the planets we conquer. And, even if what you are saying is true, the Condense would never talk peace and actually mean it. She would just betray the deal and get another planet to rule."

But it was as if his words went through one ear and out the other. "We need to meet them," Signless breathed. Then it was him tugging Psiioniic along. 

"Look. I don't think that there is a race of nice aliens out there that are going to help us."

"Yes, it would be too convenient. But there has to be a reason nobody's culled them, trolls or not. If they _aren't_ trolls, then that means the Condense actually invited them to Alternia. Nothing gets in or out without her permission, like you said. There must be something she wants from them, and she can't take if forcefully. Yet."

Psiioniic had to admit that Signless was making more sense, even if he was still holding onto the alien idea. _No_, he reminded himself sternly, _He could literally persuade you to do anything. Does it really make sense?_

It did. Sort of. Psiioniic sighed. "Whatever. Let's just hurry up tho we can find out."

As the slope of the hill became steeper and steeper, their surroundings became shinier and the merchandise bought and sold around them became shinier yet. The crowd thinned and consisted of almost all highbloods, their lowblood servants scurrying behind them, arms filled with their masters' shopping. Every so often, a newly bought slave set apart by their chains trudged behind a highblood holding their leash.

Psiioniic felt as though all eyes were on them, though many of the highbloods paid them no more mind than the stones beneath their feet. It was easier to stick close to Signless, at least. He wanted to take his hand and drag him back to relative safety, but they had come so far and the Dolorosa and Disciple were waiting ahead.

In the end, Psiioniic didn't have to make that choice. There was hiss from a shadowed corner and two horns like a meowbeast's ears slid out of the dark. Disciple. Once she was sure that she had their attention, she swept away into the alleyway behind her like a shadow come to life. 

Psiioniic and Signless followed to find Disciple and Dolorosa waiting restlessly in a dead end between several run-down buildings.

"Did something happen?" Psiioniic whispered urgently. 

"They're calling it a 'cleanup'. Lowbloods are being culled," Dolorosa said grimly. "They must be starting in the slums."

"Why?" Signless demanded.

"No idea."

This was not uncommon in big cities. It was likely that there was no reason behind it at all.

Signless breathed in. When he opened his eyes again, they were hard. "Okay. We'll leave."

Psiioniic's bloodpumper burst with joy spoiled by a wave of shame. Despite these deaths, the injustice, and the mystery of the "hornless", he was keeping his promise. They were going to leave without so much as a rally.

". . . I really wish we could," Dolorosa said. "But they're watching whoever enters and exits this city. The subjuggulators are killing people at random, but we'll most certainly die if we try to leave now."

Or not. Psiioniic couldn't bring himself to be angry. His shoulders slumped with the resignation that they were going to be stuck in this city for the long haul.

"I think I know where we can stay, for now. Signless, do you remember that factory we thought we could hold a rally in?" Disciple asked. "We could stay there, but we're going to have to lay low until we can leave."

Psiioniic couldn't stand the apologetic look Signless gave him. "We might as well do what we do best while we're at it. By the way, Signless thinks that the Condense set aliens loose on Alternia."

"He's making it sound insane--"

"Anything we say or do is insane. And treasonous"

"You have a fair point, but it's only a theory. And it has some thought behind it!"

"Have any luck spotting them?" Dolorosa quirked an eyebrow. "We certainly didn't."

"Didn't even make it to The Cuttlefish," Signless said. "But Psiioniic and I did some talking, and he said some things that got me thinking."

"I don't believe that Psiioniic came up with the aliens."

"He did!" 

Disciple took the pause Signless made to take a breath as an opportunity to put a stop to a lecture before it started. "Listen, I know that aliens are a big deal, but I need to get my book! It's criminal evidence and my life's work!"

"Oh-- you're right, I'm sorry."

"No more talking! Stay close and stay silent. We can get there quickly if we travel my way," Disciple said. Without another word, she leapt smoothly onto an overflowing trash container and launched herself onto the roof.

There was no more time to waste babbling. With his powers, Psiioniic lifted the others onto the roof next to her and followed suit.


	6. Hazardous Gardens

### Twix

Mercifully, there was no breakfast with Dualscar to suffer through the following night. Twix and Roxy awoke to a hesitant knock on the door, the bright light of dusk streaming through the open curtains.

"Breakfast," came a muffled voice.

Twix dragged a hand over their bleary eyes. The sudden shift to a nocturnal lifestyle was taking its toll, but so was skipping dinner in favor of rusty tea. All at once Twix realized how ravenous they were, and that was enough incentive to haul themselves to their feet despite their body's protests. Trying to wipe the sleep from their eyes and finger-comb the tangles in their hair, Twix stumbled to the door with a mumbled good morning toward Roxy.

Hand on the doorknob, they took a quick pause to straighten their collar in the tiny reflection of a decorative mirror. Not looking bad. . . but not good, either, considering how high the bar was set.

Another, more bold knock, and Twix opened the door with a tired smile at the ready. They didn't expect the troll carrying their breakfast to shrink away from the light shining behind them with a barely contained shriek.

Mortified, Twix stepped into the hall and hurriedly shut the door behind them. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to put you in any danger!"

It was one of the bronze servants they had met in passing last night, the one with the bangs and the horns like a halo. She righted the delicate arrangement on the tray, eyes flicking up to glance at them with what Twix thought was confusion. She didn't appear to have been hurt by the flash of sunlight.

"You aren't. . . were the curtains open?" Despite their mistake, Twix was pleased to see that she wasn't looking at the ground, but directly at them through her black hair.

"Yes. My species likes sunlight, but here on this planet it's a little intense. Looks like we can still stand it, though."

"I see. My apologies." She bowed her head.

Twix realized that they were still blocking the door, but it wasn't as if she could safely enter the suite. "There's nothing to be sorry about, it was a mistake on my part. I'll be more careful about that." They held out their hands for the tray.

When she handed it to them, they couldn't help but notice the lithe muscles in her arms. Though her head was bent in submission, the way she held herself was different than the other servants Twix had encountered. With her and the Summoner, it seemed Dualscar had an eye for servants that could throw down at a moment's notice.

"I'm (f/n) (l/n). Nice to meet you. Thanks for the breakfast."

Twix waited, but she didn't give her own name. Figuring that they had caused enough grief for one conversation, they put a hand on the doorknob slowly, giving her time to scurry a safe distance away. The troll called out to them before they could turn it.

"Dualscar would like to speak with you. Alone."

"With. . . me? Just me?"

"Yes."

Twix stifled a groan, but tried to steer their thoughts towards a more optimistic path. _This could be good. Maybe he finally wants to sit down, talk nicely. . . _

"When?" they asked.

"As soon as possible. He. . . wishes you welcome to Alternia."

Twix couldn't help but laugh. "There's no need to put words in his mouth, but I'll still take it. Thanks. I'll meet him soon."

She was silent.

Twix slipped through the door with an awkward little wave. They managed not to fumble the tray until they shut the door and turned to find Roxy's face inches from theirs.

She caught one end of the tray, saving the intricately painted porcelain threatening to spill off of it. "Looks like you're in for it."

Twix dragged out a sigh, replacing the crystal centerpiece on a coffee table with their breakfast. "No kidding! I was hoping he'd let the dinner thing go."

"You have any idea about what he wants?"

"Not really. I just hope he's going to talk about a treaty on the Condescension's behalf." Twix made a quick round of the room to shut the curtains, lest some poor troll come in for room service and be burned before the sun fully set. This bathed the room in darkness, so Roxy flicked on a few lights.

"I think we can ask Jane if we can send her in your stead," the woman said, "I mean, she's the leader and Dualscar seems to hate her, too."

"That does sound like a good idea. . ." they said wistfully. But the servant girl had passed a clear message, and it was really Twix's own damn fault Dualscar had a bone to pick. "But Jane said we have to kiss his ass, and he asked that I come alone. I guess I'm going to try and save this good impression we're supposed to be making. I'll get this issue resolved, and then I'll slink back behind the scenes." Twix flopped down onto the loveseat, inspecting their breakfast. They wrinkled their nose. "Under no circumstances drink this rusty purple tea."

"These croissant things are okay, though. Made out of bugs or something." Taking a bite out of a vaguely insect-shaped pastry, Roxy folded herself into the armchair across from them. "But do you got a plan?"

"Come on, I just woke up. And. . . hey. You didn't wake me up for nightwatch!"

"Daywatch. And we both needed that sleep." She pointed to the dark circles under Twix's eyes. "I mean, it looks like you need a little more."

Twix made a face at her. "Have you looked in the mirror?"

"Ha, ha. Anyway, you should be careful around Dualscar."

"Did he make threats?"

"No, but he's kind of a dick, isn't he? He wasn't interested in much about us during dinner last night. It was weird. He wasn't like those people that saw us when we were walking up to The Cuttlefish, and I don't know whether or not that's a good thing."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Alternia's a galactic empire, remember? The civilians didn't know anything about us, but maybe the Empress sends all ambassadors to hang out at Dualscar's. I don't know. He's pretty rude to be hosting guests all the time."

According to the Kingdoms, the Condescension had her claws in almost every corner of this galaxy. It was theorized that her empire was spreading to others. Neither Derse nor Prospit knew much about the trolls, but their general consensus was that though billions of light years separated the kingdoms and Earth from Alternia, they were a force to be reckoned with. Humanity had not seen any trace of their existence, as the kingdoms were cagey with their information, until the Condescension's message had reached Earth. The humans still knew very little about the Alternian Empire, and they had arranged their envoy according to the Empress's demands. Twix had been under the impression that ambassadors rarely set foot on this planet.

"I guess there'll be no better time to ask the guy." Twix finally bit into a croissant and was relieved to find it edible. Scarfing it down and taking another, they stood and took up their coat from a set of marble hooks by the door. "Well, thanks. Wish me luck, I guess. The lady said that he wanted to see me as soon as possible."

"Wait a minute, come back here! If you're going to have to go out there in yesterday's clothes, you can at least get in the fancy golden shower."

Twix paused. "I don't know if Dualscar likes to be kept waiting. Do I smell?"

"Just a little bit." Roxy crossed over to the armchair in which she slept the day away and was back with Twix's notebook in hand. She tossed it onto the table. "If you do take a shower, tell me if there are any alien surprises in the bathroom."

The only clock in the room was fancy and probably wrought out of solid gold, but the good thing was that Twix could make out the numbers on its face as a very calligraphic 1-12. Either that, or they were in an alien language. Numbers or not, Twix read the clock as 8:15. It _was_ pretty early by troll standards.

Though part of Twix thought this was a bad decision, the other scoffed that Dualscar had shown the humans little courtesy face-to-face. He could wait for Twix to become more presentable. They put their coat back on the hook. "I'll be quick."

The four showerheads over the bathing pool, luckily, were easy to figure out. As Twix waited for the water to turn hot, they opened cupboards and sorted through shelves looking for soap. There were dozens of bottles of varying shapes and sizes placed around the room, with labels in unreadable Alternian. Twix almost left them alone for fear of using something too expensive, but recalled Roxy's comment about their smell and resigned themselves to risking it. They settled on something flowery in the plainest bottle they could see, and stepped out from under the water feeling like a whole new person.

Hidden in the back of a cabinet carved to look like a seahorse, Twix found a plain tub of lotion covered in a thick layer of dust. Its contents smelled wonderful, and they liked the way it faintly shimmered under the light. Having seen proof that Dualscar had his fair share of other skin products in more expensive-looking containers, Twix couldn't help but use it. 

They were out of the bathroom in record time, refreshed, hair brushed, and the steam having taken care of the wrinkles in their clothing.

"No alien surprises," they told Roxy.

She raised her eyebrows. "What did you put on?"

"I don't know. . . some kind of glitter lotion I found." They'd slathered the stuff all over. Twix inspected a hand, slightly concerned to see the fine shimmer had intensified under the dimmer light of the main room. Still, there were worse things than a little body glitter. "I guess I better go for real this time. Wish me luck!"

Roxy waved a hand goodbye, reminding Twix to take their little knife, and Twix turned out of the suite. Shutting the door also shut out the light that flooded the dim hallway. The other doors were closed and the rooms behind them silent, but artificial light shone through the cracks. The sun had fully set, and night was newly upon them. The rest of the crew was either attending to their breakfasts or figuring out the bathrooms as Twix had.

A bright, sparkling light in the corner of their eye turned out to be Twix's own hand. Startled, they looked at both palms, then rolled up a sleeve of their turtleneck to study more of their skin. They seemed to be. . . glowing. . .

If the lotion's effect was more visible in the suite, it was at an all-time high in the darkness of the hallway. Twix buried their face in their hands. With their luck, they'd blundered their way into using some sort of crazy expensive diamond cream.

Was there enough time to take another shower and start the night anew? No. But which would make a worse impression: Showing up a little late, covered in enough glitter to highlight their mistakes, or arriving spectacularly late without a trace of any glowing alien lotion?

Despite Twix's warning, Roxy was raising a teacup to her lips when they burst through the door not a minute after they had left. She set it down forcefully enough that purple tea sloshed over its sides. "What's up with you?"

Twix shrugged off their coat, rolled up their sleeves and made for the bathroom like their life depended on it. "I'm glowing," was their strangled reply. They ducked into the bathroom and turned the faucet on full blast to scrub up to their forearms. 

They were patting their face down with a wet washcloth when a polite knock sounded over the running water. Twix shut off the sink and listened.

"I've come back for the tray." It was the troll woman from earlier. 

In the middle of Roxy's reply, a heavy fist pounded against the door. "I'vwe been wvaiting!"

Muttering a steady stream of curses, Twix threw the towel in the sink, made a desperate effort to tame their hair, and was by Roxy's side in a heartbeat. She gave them a resigned look and opened the door.

The two trolls before them made quite a pair. Dualscar was there in his cape and finery, but it was the first time the humans had seen him without Ahab's Crosshairs. The woman next to him stood like a soldier at attention, tense as a loaded spring. Dualscar glowered down at them, but Twix could only crack a rueful grin.

"Wvhat the 'ell is so funny?" he seethed.

They were trying their very best to get it together, but the corners of their mouth wouldn't be forced down. "Sorry. I smile when I'm uncomfortable, and this is an uncomfortable situation. Sorry to keep you waiting."

Eager to be away, Roxy nodded toward the servant. "I'll get that tray." She spun on her heel and disappeared into the suite.

As calmly as possible, Twix took up their coat and shrugged it back on. Ignoring Dualscar's continuing glare, they even went so far as to brush invisible dust off of their sleeves. Shoving their hands in their pockets, they looked up at the violetblood with a plastic smile. "Shall we?"

Dualscar only clenched his pointed teeth and swept down the stairs, anger radiating off of him in waves. Twix gave the servant a wave that was not returned and quickened their step after him.

The hive was far less bright than it had been the night of the crew's arrival. Twix chalked it up to the early hour, but it made them no less uneasy. The only sources of light in the shadowy hallways were a handful of chandeliers down to their dying candle stubs and, regrettably, Twix. The lotion's glow was faint, but still noticeable.

Twix waited for Dualscar to stop and find a candle to light their way, but he didn't. They could make out the outline of the seatroll's fins, flared in anger obviously directed towards the human, but Dualscar made no sign that walking through the near black was any issue. There was no talk.

As they traversed into places Twix couldn't recall having seen before, the human couldn't help but wonder the likeliness of Dualscar planning an outright assault. No one else was around. It was his own house, and even without the dozens of swords, guns and other various weapons mounted on the walls at ten-foot increments, Dualscar had sharp teeth, claws, and whole lot more muscle than Twix did. 

Soon, light became even scarcer. Twix strayed close to the wall, trailing their fingers on its smooth stone and making an effort not to bump into Dualscar. They ended up stumbling into something else, first, the heavy scrape of stone covering their sharp intake of breath.

Twix froze, trying to assess any damage they might have caused, but they were as blind in the dark as ever. They heard a snort of laughter from Dualscar and glared at his back.

Dualscar's footsteps paced onward, but when Twix was convinced that he was going to simply turn the corner and leave them, he sighed and threw a look over his shoulders. Though the shadows masked his features, Twix heard the surprise in his voice. "Yer wvearing Rainbow Drinker Serum, eh?"

"I guess I am." Nothing like a little bit of improvisation to smooth things over. Twix stepped away from the wall carefully, bracing themselves to calmly deflect Dualscar's angry words.

He laughed. He seemed to be doing that a lot around the humans. "Jegus, you look like evwen more of a freak! No offense. I guess I can appreciate expensive taste, but if this is the reason ya kept me wvaiting so damn long, I wvould'vwe preferred ye wvithout."

Twix's cool exterior turned frigid. "I'll admit that I had a slow start this morning. This serum still isn't enough to light the way, though. What's the point of not turning on any lights?"

"Wvhat do ya mean, lights?"

"I mean that I can't see in the dark. Can you?"

"Aye, I can. Hovw do you even get around wvithout being culled? Talk all of the lussii out of eating ya?"

"Humans aren't made to be nocturnal. We're awake during the day, but then again Earth's sun is less intense than yours."

"Hm. If ya need to cling to my cape like a wvriggler, then be careful not to soil the material. I'd like to reach our destination as soon as possible."

Dualscar probably saw the tick in Twix's clenched jaw, and Twix probably hadn't imagined the sneer spread across his face. _You've worked with a lot of insufferable people before,_ they reminded themselves. _Looks like you have to be the better person here._

"Fine, give me your hand." They reached out, staring steadily ahead in the darkness.

"Wvhat?"

"I said give me your hand! If you're so impatient, then you can lead me. I'm sure that you could see it even if it wasn't glowing." They waved their outstretched arm pointedly.

A pause. "I'm not takin' yer fucking hand."

"Whatever you say." Twix shoved their hands into their coat pockets. "Let's go, then," they said curtly.

Dualscar knocked a fist against the wall. The sharp sound of his rings against the polished stone echoed throughout the hall. "Gog, ya really are a wvriggler. Can ya hear wvhere I am? Followv that sound."

Dualscar lead Twix around the corner, and as it would turn out, they were hardly ten feet away from where he wanted to go. The seatroll pushed open the double doors with a flourish, and Twix's aggravation was momentarily swept away by awe at their surroundings.

They were standing in a circular sitting area, furnished more elegantly than Twix could have ever expected. The structure was an extension of the hive, built out of glass panels and white framework that tapered to a pointed roof. Illuminating moonlight shone through in soft contrast to the fiery rays of the Alternian sun. The most impressive view was the garden. No longer tame, it had come alive as soon as the sun had descended under the horizon. Glowing flowers clawed their way upwards. The black silhouettes of trees wove a canopy over the stone path. A thorned vine reached out and snatched a tiny flying creature out of the air.

Twix ignored Dualscar and took a step towards the glass, peering out into the night in rapture. When he cleared his throat pointedly, Twix turned back to him begrudgingly. He had taken a seat in one of the velvet chairs, so Twix took the one across from him.

Twix decided to extend an olive branch. "Your garden is beautiful."

"I'm often told so," Dualscar replied loftily, waving a hand.

There was a limit to Twix's patience, and Dualscar was testing it again. Twix raised their eyebrows, taking a slow look around at the more pleasant view than the person sitting before them: outside. "I'm sure. Anyway, Dualscar, what would you like to discuss?"

"Howv did yer meeting with Darkleer go?"

Twix looked back at him to see violetblood's sharp smile stretch the scars across his face. "Well enough. He was very informative."

"Wvell, if ya havwe any more questions, let's get 'em out of the wvay."

Twix was skeptical, but went ahead and asked, "Why did you bring us to the Cuttlefish?"

"You caused a scene, I heard. That wvasn't quite wvhat I had in mind, but I figured that fine dining was the wvay to expose ya to this city."

Twix vividly remembered seeing the prevalence of poverty among the fortunate, lowbloods in rags avoiding contact at all costs with highbloods in finely tailored clothes and jewelry. "I see. What do the citizens know of Earth and us humans?" 

"Until yesterday, they knewv nothing at all. Her Imperious Condescension instructed me to make your presence knowvn."

". . . I don't think that was the introduction you were hoping for."

Dualscar chuckled, reaching under the delicate table and bringing out a bottle of what was unmistakably alcohol. "Trust me, it wvas perfect."

"About the Empress." Twix eyed the bottle as Dualscar retrieved two crystal glasses and slid one towards them. "I understand that she is busy. Do you deal with ambassadors from other planets often? Besides us, are there any here now?"

"No. Wve just conquer 'em. The Condescension doesn't tell me much, and truth be told I don't knowv wvhy wve're bothering wvith you humans in the first place." He poured himself and Twix a drink, raising his glass to a toast. "I hope Alternian wvine is to yer liking."

He downed half of it with one swallow. Twix eyed the red wine settled in their glass with mistrust. Once bitten, twice shy, as they say. Still, when Dualscar set his glass down he looked far too smug for being so unmannerly. Twix couldn't let this disrespect fly every time, so they took a sip for the sake of diplomacy. _I'll drink your goddamn wine, but I'm not going to be a pig about it._

It _was_ drinkable. They weren't a wine connoisseur by any means, but it wasn't even bad. Twix allowed themselves a slight smile out of relief.

Dualscar was refilling his glass. Twix wondered if this was a cultural thing or if Dualscar simply liked his alcohol. He said idly, "Wvhy wvould _you_ say the Empress is bothering with ya?"

". . . We were hoping that she wanted peace. She didn't say much in her invitation, other than introducing herself and your race and then inviting us over." 

"Let me get this straight. Did ya evwer hear of us trolls before that invwite?"

Twix shook their head no, aware of where this was going but buckling down to take the mockery anyway.

"So. You get a sketchy invwite from a planet ya'vwe nevwer heard of that's billions of light years awvay. Ya don't knowv exactly wvhat they wvant, but you decide to get on a tiny ship and showv up on their terms anywvay."

Twix shrugged and grasped their wine delicately. It was looking as though they'd need it to get through this meeting. "We're an optimistic people."

"You're a bunch a' stupid wvrigglers." 

"Toast to that." Twix took a sip and Dualscar burst out into laughter. When he didn't stop, Twix closed their eyes, took a deep breath, and took another sip.

The rest of the meeting went on in a similar fashion. Dualscar would talk, Twix would give short replies, and Dualscar would mock them in return. The troll took it upon himself to snidely answer the questions Twix had the previous night, and Twix let him talk for lack of any better options. He repeated much of what Darkleer had said, but in a roundabout, drawn-out manner that would have completely confused Twix had they not already learned the gist of Alternia's culture. He would talk, and then he would backtrack, and then he would take his time getting to the point and maybe insult humanity again. Twix considered making a drinking game out of it.

It wasn't long before Twix's mind drifted and his voice faded in and out of being meaningless noise. They gathered that somewhere along the way Dualscar had gotten to talking about himself again. Luckily for them both, Twix was well-practiced in nodding and muttering vague replies at the correct intervals. They just stared ahead in mild interest, not at what he was saying, but at how animated he had become. The troll was immersed in a recounting of how he and his crew "vwaliantly fought a lusus to rivwal the Empress's," with exaggerated gestures to match the exaggerated story.

"What is the Empress's lusus like?" Twix interrupted.

Dualscar made a disgruntled noise and tossed the bottle aside. Twix realized that he had finished most of it by himself, because they were still sipping their first drink and had refused any refills Dualscar offered. Come to think of it, the roughness of the seatroll's voice and his pirate-like accent had become more prominent over time. The alcohol must have loosened him up. 

"It's fucken' monstrous," he slurred, "Bigger than both of the Empress's palaces stacked on top o' each other. They say that lusus is older than this wvorld and that it's gonna bring it to an end it one day."

"Really?" Twix couldn't tell whether this was a legend that Dualscar was reciting through his drunken haze, or something that trolls actually believed. "Has anyone ever seen it?"

"Ne'er seen it and livwed."

"Not even you? I thought it was your job to feed it."

"No. Not evwen me, ya fucking imbecile. I like ta keep myself in the Condensce's favor, but I don't have a death wish. Hangin' round ya humans might be bad luck for me, actually."

Twix didn't take the bait and ask why. They had enough. "I think I'm going to go take a closer look at your garden. This meeting was very informative," they said by way of goodbye. They knocked back the last of their wine and promptly made for the exit.

They would have fled into the cool night without a glance backward if not for the loud scraping of the chair, signalling Dualscar's pursuit. Twix's annoyance spiked at the sound of his surprisingly steady footsteps coming closer, but there wasn't a polite way to get Dualscar to bug off his own property. They waited at the door in exasperation, one hand grasping the golden handle.

Dualscar stopped by their side, close enough to brush shoulders. Twix resigned themselves to more of his company and finally raised an eyebrow up at his twin scars. "You ready to hold my hand or something?" they asked.

His earfins flapped once, twice, and the troll looked sharply away. "I don't wvant you wvreaking havwoc in my garden, human," he said lowly. He, once again, set off without Twix. "Consider it a tour," he called over his shoulder.

Even though they hadn't managed to shake off Dualscar, Twix was having a better time already. The glass room had grown stifling, trapping the heat of the day, and the night air was a refreshing change. As the two passed, the phosphorescent flowers turned their faces towards them and remained watching until the human and troll turned out of sight. The rainbowdrinker serum on Twix's skin made them fit right in under the soft moonlight.

They caught up to Dualscar easily, and as tempting as it was to outpace the drunken fool, they didn't try. "What's that?" they asked softly, pointing to the cruel-looking vines making their way up the foot of a marble seahorse statue. 

Dualscar shrugged with one shoulder. "Strangleclaw. Don't get close to it." 

"Hm." Twix slipped their camera out of an inner coat pocket and busied themselves with turning it on and fiddling with the settings. In the blink of an eye, a vine snapped out at Twix, a mouth like a toothy Venus flytrap's closing on empty air. Dualscar had jerked them back with one large hand tightly grasping their shoulder.

Twix froze, not daring to blink. The vine slithered back into its place and lay still.

"Well-- you warned me. Thanks for that," they said after a moment to get themselves back together. Their heartbeat had quickened its pace.

Dualscar shoved them roughly away from him, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "I'm too drunk to be grubsittin' ya, you soft human. Wvhat the fuck is your planet like?"

"Earth? Well, the plants don't go looking for meat. They're only dangerous if you eat something poisonous," Twix said, preoccupied with scanning the shadows around them for any sign of movement. "We can go out during the day, as you know. Nothing harmful about the night, either, if you have light to see." _Basically, it's nowhere near as nuts as this place._

"This is not yer fucking Earth. Ya can't go frolicking out in gardens."

"Alright. I'll be more careful. Just, tell me. . . are you saying that you keep this garden around specifically to be a hazard?"

"There is no such thing as a non-hazardous garden, human. Evwerything's out to get ya, but if you can keep one around to look nice, wvhy not?"

"Hm." Twix stared down the path. The wild beauty of this place looked more than nice, and Twix had lived a lifetime of being lured by the unknown. Up ahead, the wild canopy of branches and vines arched over the stone. The glowing flowers gazed sightlessly back at them. "Does _anyone_ ever walk this path, then?"

"Oh, no. There ya go looking thoughtful again. Self-preservwation? Do ya fucking got it?"

"It is _your_ death garden! You know what? How about we come back here sometime, when you're less drunk and I'm less busy. You can impress me with your hazardous plants, and then you can bounce some more insults off of me," Twix snapped. The challenge left their mouth without any filter or second thoughts. From the very start of the night up until that moment, stress had only built up and Twix was tired of dealing with these trolls.

Dualscar's fins flared, and violet crept onto his neck and cheeks. "Fine, then. I'll show ya the nooksucking plants, and then wvill you stop being such a nuisance?"

Twix had managed to contain any more outbursts under a thin veil of ice. "_You_ wanted to meet with _me_, Dualscar. I hope that we can resolve any issues," they replied calmly.

"You little--"

"You won't be drunk, and I won't be busy. I look forward to seeing you again," they interrupted dryly, mouth curving upwards at the latter sentence. They nodded their head dismissively. "Goodnight."

Dualscar clenched his fist, and Twix came out of the giddiness that riling up Dualscar brought -- _Were they really about to fight?_ \-- but he sent Twix a sharp smile. "Aye. I think it will be."

He stormed off, and Twix was finally left alone.

### Roxy

As soon as the servant woman left, Roxy ventured out into the hall and rounded up the rest of the crew in her shared suite for a meeting. "Twix got whisked away by Dualscar" was taken just about as well as could be expected.

"I think it'll be fine!" Jake said.

"I don't know. These people haven't earned our trust," Jane fretted. She couldn't sit still. The others watched as she paced circles around the room, lifting and studying the various expensive-looking objects lying around. 

"It would be cool to watch," Dirk said unhelpfully. At the look Roxy gave him, he added, "Twix isn't going to physically fight him. I thought the Director begged you to beg them to come along in the first place."

"I'm not worried about Twix mucking things up, I'm worried about them getting shanked with a letter opener!"

"Yeah."

A knock at the door silenced them all. During their shared hesitation, it came again.

"If that's Twix, that was fast," Roxy muttered, crossing the room to answer it.

It was the servant woman. "You have a letter," she said. "And I brought a change of clothes."

"Hi, again." Roxy accepted the bundle of black garments and the letter. It was an envelope stamped with a fuchsia wax seal. When she looked up from her brief study to thank the woman, she was already walking away.

"Uh, hold on," Roxy called. "We see a lot of each other, so what's your name?"

"Not important. Most honored guest." 

Roxy called out again as the servant was turning on her heel. "Uh, yeah, okay. Just another thing--" she spared a look over her shoulder at Jane. Her captain nodded approval. "-- We appreciate Dualscar's hospitality and all, but we were thinking about returning to our ship after (f/n) (l/n) got back."

"You can't leave!"

Roxy blinked. "Why not? There's some things we need to get." She thought of the victory martini waiting for her in the kitchen.

"Then it will have to wait," the servant said. "I have orders."

"Whose orders?"

"Dualscar's."

"Excuse me," Roxy heard Jane say quietly from behind her. She moved aside for Jane to stand in the doorway.

"I'm sure this is a misunderstanding," Jane said with a placating tone.

"It's really not. You can't leave yet, for your safety. If you try I will have to stop you."

_Could she really? Sure, she's ripped, but. . . _Roxy spared a glance at her rifle, lying on the fireplace mantle. Dirk was still seated casually on the love seat, but he tipped his sword meaningfully when he met her gaze. Jake leaned against the dining table, his guns within easy reach in their holsters.

"What are you supposed to be protecting us from?" Jane asked, ire creeping into her voice.

Roxy peeked over her shoulder to see the woman's face harden. "I'm afraid I can't say," the troll replied.

"There is equipment we need to get and things we need to put back into order on our ship. When we landed, we didn't expect to be away from it for a long time. You could even come with us and stand guard, if you'd like."

"Hear my words: _If you try to leave, I will have to stop you._"

"Oh, dear. Hoo, hoo!" Roxy didn't need to see Jane's face to know the expression she was making. "After our other member gets back, I'm afraid we'll have to discuss this with Dualscar. Is there anything else?"

"No."

"Then have a nice day!" The captain shut the door in her face.


	7. Hallway Mazes

### Twix

Twix waited until Dualscar's retreating silhouette was long gone, half-turned to leave but staying to consider the beckoning archway and the tangled maze beyond it. Ultimately, they sighed and followed the seatroll's path to the exit.

They managed to make it out of the garden in one piece. On either sides of the path, the quick movements they caught out of the corners of their eyes made them quicken their pace. With Dualscar's absence also came their increased vulnerability to the plants with a mind of their own, and every shadowed corner carried a hint of danger. Still-- that danger attracted Twix, and a part of them wanted to turn back around and explore the nighttime landscape.

It was foolish, they knew. They figured that they had already caused enough trouble, with this disaster of a meeting and all, and ignored their own reckless curiosity for now.

_"Resolve this issue" my ass. I made it worse._

A lit candle had been left in a large seashell on the table where Twix and Dualscar had their wine. Twix took the candle gently, surprised by the small kindness when the two had parted on such bad terms, but realized that the candle had not been left by Dualscar himself. A servant had evidently been in the area to clear away their used glasses and the empty wine bottle, and the human most likely had them to thank. They turned out of the glass extension and into the hallway with the single candle to accompany them.

Not a soul to be seen, but there was more than enough light. Twix had to stop and blink until their eyes adjusted. Someone had lit every wall sconce down the length of the hall. There were an unnecessary number of burning candelabras that hadn't been there before, or Twix would have bumped into them when they were feeling their way blindly after Dualscar. 

It would have had to taken a team of people working quickly to make these arrangements in the ten minutes separating Dualscar's and Twix's departure from the garden. Twix had to be embarrassed to be the cause of so much effort, but it joined their amazement that Dualscar was suddenly being so hospitable.

Twix paced across the marble floor slowly, listening for anything other than the click of their boot heels and peering into adjoining passageways. They were devoid of light and anyone to ask for directions, so Twix hoped that the trail of candles would make a sufficient path back to the suite. They didn't dare go poking around (yet), but where was everyone? It was still early, but Twix assumed that at least some of the servants were up at this time, to clean, cook, and begin their daily tasks. 

They spotted a squat vase sitting by the wall and stopped before the odd thing, tilting their head down at it. It had been repositioned, but from the slight scuffing on the ground next to it, this was what Twix had stumbled into in the dark. It was shaped like a bejeweled fish whose gaping mouth served as the opening of the vase. Well-used but sharpened spears were tossed carelessly into it as if they were nothing more than umbrellas. Were those there be--

"(f/n) (l/n)."

Twix jumped and whipped around, but broke into a sheepish grin when they recognized the newcomer. "Ah-- Summoner! You startled me."

"My apologies." He looked down quickly, and it was even stranger for Twix now that they knew the reason behind his timidness. Despite any intelligence or prowess on the battlefield he might have, he was a bronzeblood, the second lowest blood caste possible. He couldn't simply be another one of Dualscar's servants, though. Twix suspected he was a bodyguard of some kind. "I'm here to escort you back to your respiteblock. Again," he said. A pause, and he offered his hand. Twix took it gladly. They shook, and when they met eyes Twix practically beamed in an effort to ease the tense set of the troll's shoulders. It seemed to work.

"Thank you," Twix replied. The two fell into step side-by-side. The Summoner moved with an easy grace that Twix envied. "If you don't mind my asking, what happened to your face?"

"Oh, this?" He dared to meet their eyes again for a few seconds, pointing to a long cut above his eye. In case they were causing any discomfort, Twix listened while looking ahead. "Minor accident."

"Are you alright?" Twix's eyes darted back to Summoner's face to inspect the cut, but they quickly turned away again when they noticed the way the Summoner had reverted back into his strained calm.

"Yes. I am fine," was his stiff reply. After a moment, he added, "Thank you."

They didn't push it. The cut was shallow, but too clean and precise to be caused by anything other than a blade. Still, there were the spears and other various bladed weapons lying about to consider. Maybe he was telling the truth.

An awkward silence with the Summoner was a thousand times preferable to an awkward silence with Dualscar, but Twix still didn't like it. A glance at their hand revealed that the Rainbow Drinker Serum had been dulled down under the bright candlelight. Good. 

As Twix walked with Summoner, their surroundings began to blur together in their uniformity. A vase here, a door there, a rug or a painting between decorative and functional weapons alike. At first, the layout of the path was clear. All they had to do was follow the lights, but eventually those lights trailed off into branching corridors that were all similarly constructed and decorated. The candelabras stopped making an appearance, so Twix's candle and their glowing skin alike had a more prominent presence. When the pair slowed to a stop in front of a crossroads, it took Twix a minute to realize how clueless of a look the Summoner had on his face.

"Are we lost?" they asked plainly.

"Yes. Yes, we are," the Summoner sighed, peering into the four branching hallways with poorly disguised frustration.

It looked as though Twix was getting their nightly escapade after all, though being lost within Dualscar's hive was less of an exciting prospect than wandering the garden maze. "Well, do you know if there's anyone we can ask for directions? I don't remember the way I came." 

"I don't know. I apologize for this inconvenience." The troll was looking at the human as though he expected Twix to be angry. Spending time around Dualscar must make one wary of outbursts, they assumed. Summoner actually moved to get down on one knee, and when Twix realized it they panicked and grasped his arm before he could finish the motion. The Summoner froze but didn't shrug them away.

"Oh, there's no need to apologize!" Twix rambled. "As of right now, the only thing I have scheduled is to meet with the Grand Highblood, and apparently he's out of town. You got any plans?"

A stiff shake of his head. His eyes grew wider at the mention of the Grand Highblood.

"Then there's no rush." Awkwardly, Twix tried to pull Summoner to his feet, but the troll didn't budge. The whole situation was riddled with confusion, both sides wondering whether or not they had broken an alien code of conduct.

Twix finally released him and made a show of focusing their attention on the three routes available, turning so the Summoner couldn't see the embarrassed flush lighting their face and neck aflame. Eager to change the subject, they muttered, "There has to be _someone_ around here."

The Summoner rose smoothly. "Maybe."

They both studied the hallways in silence. The left route hit a sharp turn towards the direction the two had come. The right ended in a pair of winding stairs. The middle corridor was dark, and the wall sconces were too far away to provide the human better view of it. Twix's footsteps echoed as they moved forward and cast their candle's light into the center hallway. It continued forwards for as far as they could see, practically calling Twix's name.

"Well, do you have a good feeling about any of these?" Twix asked, turning back to the Summoner. His answer was to come to their side and cross his arms, seeming to consider what Twix could not see in the dark.

"This one looks as good as any," he said. "I'll admit that I haven't been here long."

Twix agreed with a shrug of one shoulder, burning with curiosity under the casual front. They set off. The candle's weak glow was enough to prevent any more collisions, but Twix sighed inwardly when their own ghostly shine made a reappearance. They could have sworn they felt Summoner sneaking glances at them, but he made no comment.

Even in the face of little success so far, Twix went ahead and made a stab at small-talk again. "Where were you before. . . here?" 

_Smooth_.

The question took the troll by surprise. He answered slowly and carefully. "I worked at the docks. I mostly loaded cargo onto ships, did a lot of heavy lifting. What about you?"

Damn. That was the first time anyone had asked Twix about Earth and seemed genuinely interested, much less asked about Twix themselves. It was also a question whose answer had to be formulated, but if the human had to dance around the truth that only made two of them. Twix knew that the Summoner was hiding something.

"Long story short, I was part of a couple space crews," they answered thoughtfully. "I started going on missions to other planets. Then I went home, started to pursue photography, and one day I got a call about going on this trip. "

Twix recalled Alternia's emphasis on joining the army, and Twix was so very tempted to ask Summoner about it. He seemed far more suited to the job than loading cargo, despite his gentle temperament. But Twix didn't have a full grasp on what the limits and freedoms were for those of his caste. Instead, they titled their head at Summoner and asked, "What do you do now?"

"I'll answer if you answer," he said.

Twix cracked a grin. "I will. Partly."

Summoner nodded his head in acceptance. "Now, I work as muscle. Dualscar has hired me." A pause, and then he added, "I am not a slave."

Though he remained little more than a stranger, Twix was relieved for him. They said, "We're here to make a good impression, form peaceful relations, and learn about your people and your planet." At this point, they could recite that in their sleep. The next part needed more thought. "The rest of my crew is here to do the talking and negotiations about peace with Alternia's higher powers. It would be great if we could establish some kind of connection-- maybe even trade, someday-- but it could take a long time. My main job is to take a bunch of pictures, organize, and help catalog what we find and what happens. Your planet is very interesting."

They were honest, talking with the confidence that their little speech gave away nothing that couldn't already be gleaned from speculation. But was it still too much? They couldn't help but wonder as the Summoner watched the stone transition to patterned carpet under their shoes. He seemed to be trying to wrap his head around Twix's openness.

"Well, do you like Alternia so far?" he asked.

Twix honestly wasn't sure. Every hour seemed to bring forth some new and unsettling aspect of Troll life. "Er-- it's different from what I'm used to. It's pretty, but dangerous. Earth operates on different rules entirely."

"Like?"

After a moment's hesitation, Twix decided on the truth, however rudimentary they had to make it in order to avoid days worth of history and social studies lessons. "We don't have a Hemospectrum. We used to enslave each other, especially by the color of our skin-- some people are dark brown and it ranges to pale. Different skin colors and culture are what we have instead of different blood colors, I guess. Now slavery is outlawed, but we definitely don't get along all the time."

### The Summoner

_Treason_, is what came to mind as Summoner listened. Those words were treasonous, and anyone loyal to the Condesce would cull the troll that dared speak about a world without the Hemospectrum. But the ambassador wasn't a troll, he reminded himself, and it wasn't revolution they spoke of. There actually was a world without the Hemospectrum, where different people found it in themselves to get along at least some of the time. For an uncomfortable moment, he wondered what it was like.

"I see," he said, and didn't ask any more questions. Neither did the human.

They were strangest person he'd ever met. The Summoner had never seen someone dare display so many cullable traits. The ambassador couldn't even navigate the straight hallway without a close call with a statue or the wall every thirty seconds, and they were sparkling with more Rainbow Drinker Serum than the Summoner's life was worth. Their race wouldn't last a second against Alternia, and the thought sent mixed emotions through him. 

This human thought they could sit down with Her Imperious Condescension and settle on peace. The Summoner almost wanted to tell them that they should focus on surviving the Grand Highblood, first.

Finally, the hallway branched off into four sections. Colored moonlight shone through the stained glass window at their right. A steep spiral staircase shot upwards with the colorful panel as its backdrop.

The gears in the Summoner's thinkpan turned. He recognized the scene that the glass was portraying as a tribute to Dualscar's home of the sea. It seemed familiar, but there were a dozen staircases and windows just like this in every corner of Dualscar's hive. All of the other routes were dark but for this one, the human examining the left hallway by the light of their little candle.

How was he meant to address them? (f/n) (l/n)? The Photographer? Judging by their reaction to his attempt to kneel, "Your excellency" and "Most revered guest" were out. Summoner sighed to himself and called over his shoulder, "I think this is the way."

They came to his side, a small beacon of light in themselves. Face turned up to take in the stained glass with obvious appreciation, they said, "I think I would have remembered this, but I trust you."

He said nothing to that.

The staircase was too narrow for them to continue side-by-side. Summoner took the lead, taking precaution against knocking his horns against the black metal. (l/n) seemed to be in a mood for more chat. They prattled on with questions about the stained glass: what it depicted, how it was made. At least they had taken leave of anything like the oddly pale exchange they had before.

The Summoner really had no choice but to humor them, but he had to admit that doing so wasn't all that bad. Until he had to spell out the scene for them. He stopped his ascent for a moment to point at the violet figure ruling the scene. "That's a violetblood. The bodies around him are drowned landwellers. Lowbloods." The water bled with a bright mixture of their shed blood.

"Oh," the human muttered behind him. It was too much to hope that the appreciation in their voice vanished, but it did. It sounded an awful lot like pity.

"Your respiteblocks are near the top floor," he said. They continued, the conversation effectively beaten down once again.

As they climbed higher and higher, the pair passed three doors for the first three levels of Dualscar's hive. Summoner opened the fourth door and the human followed him through. They emerged into a lit T-shaped corridor that Summoner recognized.

He could tell they wanted to, but the ambassador didn't ask him if they had arrived yet. He answered, with a great deal of relief, anyway. "We're in the right area."

"I would hope so. It's still one house. Hive," they said jokingly.

When Summoner took a step in what he was fairly confident was the right direction, the ambassador snapped their fingers.

"Oh!" they exclaimed as he turned around, expecting an order. "Argh--Okay. I forgot to tell Dualscar something."

"Would you like me to find him?" Summoner asked wearily.

The human winced slightly. "Maybe it would be best if I told you instead. My crew and I talked among ourselves and decided that we should return to our ship for the time being. There are things that we need there, and it would be nice to record some of what we have learned so far onto the ship's log. We thank you for your service and Dualscar for his hospitality. We do look forward to continue working with him."

This was not good. "Very well. I will tell him myself, but could you wait to leave until I do?"

The ambassador gave him a nod. "I will talk with the others. Thanks, again."

The remainder of their small journey was short. The Summoner managed to find the final staircase leading to the guest respiteblocks, and the ambassador was gone with little more than a smile and another "Thank you."

He couldn't remember the last time he had been thanked before meeting them.

As the Summoner searched for Dualscar in order to give his latest report, this thought was one of many that rattled around in his thinkpan. There wasn't a soul in the private office, so now he had to make the walk all the way to the other side of the hive where he suspected the seatroll was holed up in his respiteblock, drunk. Summoner almost didn't catch Cinyie lurking around one of the countless shadowy corners, but he reacted without surprise when she abruptly pulled him into the empty sitting room with her.

She brushed her bangs out of her eyes. "Well? Anything interesting happen to you?" At his expression, she titled her head and hummed. "Alright. Is it important?"

When he summarized his new report for her benefit, she put her hands on her hips. "They really are cullbait, huh?"

"Either brave or stupid," he replied.

"Stupid," she insisted. Knowing her experience with the humans earlier that night, he couldn't blame her.

They went their separate ways quickly and quietly. Good servants were like shadows, never letting their presence be known unless called by their masters. However, they noticed every little detail around them, filing away anything they could use for gossip or to their own advantage. They had proven to be an obstacle, but Dualscar had ordered his most trusted to tip off either him, Summoner, or Cinyie if Earth's ambassadors made any movements on their own.

Which was why it took Summoner completely off-guard to bump into none other than (f/n) (l/n), a long ways from their respiteblock.

They looked sheepishly up at him after profuse apologies. Through his surprise, Summoner noticed the absence of any shimmering skin products. Evidently they had showered and changed into a loose black shirt beneath their ever-present white coat. "Well, we aren't leaving for the ship just yet," they said. "Dualscar has given us a list of contacts. I've decided to find the Grand Highblood myself."

Summoner had a sinking feeling that this wasn't going to fare well for them.


	8. Investigations

### The Grand Highblood

A convoluted version of the Skype ringtone echoed throughout the chamber before the Grand Highblood, leader of the subjuggulators and right hand of Her Impervious Condescension, remembered how to answer the call.

"Ya fuckin-- there you are, buoy!" A wild mass of jet black hair filled the screen. The Condesce, beautiful even with her features cast in annoyance, slouched in a huge, ornate throne while servants scurried around her to groom the mane that was her pride and joy. All manner of brushes, sprays and ornaments were littered around the vanity. The Condesce swept some of them aside with a manicured hand. "You old ass man. Grype ain't all that new."

"It keeps motherfuckin' changing," the Grand Highblood grumbled.

"A few updates every couple a' seasons isn't an excuse to keep me waitin' like this! Argh." With a snap of her fingers, someone hurried over with a tray laden with sweets and a glass of wine. "Moving on, I'm in a good mood today."

The Highblood grunted. 

"And you ain't, Kurloz? Whatssa matter?" 

"Nothin' wrong with the plan. Just. . . the color of their blood. Been wondering 'bout it. Where I can paint new miracles with it."

"So long as you're _only_ wondering. Get outta of my sight, all of you." She didn't mean him, but the servants, who dropped everything and cleared out immediately. As soon as their light footsteps faded out the door, the Empress took a sip of her wine and asked, "Anyfin to report?"

He shrugged. "Nah. Popped by for a few minutes. Don't know what Dualscar's up to now, but everything was fine. The aliens a' only been here a few hours."

"I got eyes watching the humans and watching Dualscar. Don't interfere. I know you must be sore about being excluded, so I've been thinking 'bout making it up to ya. Whaddya say about enough paint to redo all the walls at once? I give you free range on the lowbloods for a whale. Pick whoever ya want and however many ya want."

Eyes gleaming, the Grand Highblood bowed his head. "My wicked sis, we'll pray in your honor."

"I would prefer ya wouldn't cull _all_ of them. They have their uses, after all."

### Redglare

As a tealblood, Neophyte Redglare was just barely allowed into the Cuttlefish as someone other than a slave to keep the place running. The haughty glances she received from the wealthy and high-class patrons of the restaurant were an annoyance, but not an inconvenience. They knew what she was, and were wise enough not to stop her when she set her sights on an attendant and approached him with a sharp smile and a twirl of her cane.

"Hello," she drawled, looking up at him and adjusting her red pointed glasses. "I have some questions for you."

Hell, even this servant was a few important shades higher up on the Hemospectrum than she was. He frowned lightly down at her, making eye contact with another blueblood servant over her shoulder. They made a hurried shooing motion and turned back to the impatient highbloods awaiting service.

He sighed and opened his mouth to answer, but she interrupted him. "Your cooperation with the law is most excellent. Take us somewhere we cannot be heard."

He complied without protest, except for a long pause that Redglare supposed he meant to be a warning. She wouldn't have it. Time was of the essence. "My lusus is becoming impatient," she said. "Surely you couldn't miss the dragon I have parked outside."

On cue, Pyralsprite's fanged grin slid into view behind the sheer curtains of a window overlooking the moonlit beach. A server passing by stumbled in fright and almost spilled a tray of wine down the front of a violetblood lady's dress. The violetblood bared her teeth down at him, and he cringed away from the danger at all sides. Having caused the desired reaction, Pyralsprite moved soundlessly away from the window.

Visibly shaken, the attendant finally led her away. They walked quickly through the kitchens to stand beside a luxurious alcove designed for more private endeavors. After Redglare ascertained that they were alone, he spoke for the first time. "Is it about the human ambassadors?"

It was about time they got down to business. "Yes. What is your name?"

"Enlion Vrequok."

"Were you there when they arrived?"

"I was. I escorted them to this spot." It seemed to finally sink in that the blueblood was under interrogation by a true legislacerator, and while he tried to hide the trembling of his meaty hands, he took her far more seriously. With Enlion Vrequok's higher blood status and Redglare's respected profession, it would be acceptable for either one of them to cull the other in this private setting. He showed no aggression. Redglare was a force to be reckoned with despite her status as a novice, and the blueblood was a little smarter than he first appeared.

"They made a bit of a flashy appearance, didn't they? What do you know about them?" Redglare pushed.

"Nothing. Almost nothing. There were five of them. I was only told that they were to have a private meeting with Dualscar, and that they should be seen by the public. No harm was to come to them."

"Did enough of the public see them during the carriage accident at the bottom of the hill?"

"I know nothing about that. I only meant that some of the customers were supposed to see the humans with Dualscar."

Was that an attempt by Dualscar to flash his high status and favor with the Condesce? It certainly wasn't below the seatroll to do so. "I imagine he paid you all quite well to keep quiet about this?" A guilty nod from Vrequok. "What were they talking about? Where are they now?"

"I don't know," he said stiffly. Redglare could taste the lie.

"There will be no bad consequences for you, if you tell me the whole truth," she said quietly. "It will be as if this meeting never happened. I can reward you for any valuable information, if you would just tell me."

He gave in. "I overheard very little, but I think that the ambassadors were trying to make negotiations," he said hesitantly. "They were not afraid. One of the slaves that served them food was talking about how Dualscar offended them all. The meeting didn't go well. One of the humans left the dinner early and I took them to a carriage in an alleyway beside us. The others left a few hours after that."

Redglare hummed. "Which of the other servants can give me more information?"

"One of the bronze workers. . . I don't know their name."

"Fetch them," Redglare ordered dismissively. She angled her head in warning, in case the attendant still had it in his thinkpan that their different blood statuses were an excuse to make her job harder. He obviously didn't appreciate this investigation from the expression on his face, but he left to do her bidding without another word.

A few minutes later, Vrequok returned with a scrawny troll in coarse rags. When he put a hand on their shoulder to shove them forward, Redglare wagged a clawed finger to halt him. "Nuh-uh. Hands off of the witness."

The bronzeblood stepped forward themselves, bowing their head respectfully. They waited for her to speak.

"What do you know about the humans that came here last night? Tell me, and I will reward you."

The lowblood worker raised their head a fraction of an inch and explained in a small voice. They had been one of the servers for the merry group of six. That caught Redglare's attention. The things that could be overheard when you were but a squeakbeast at the feet of the rich and powerful were always worth seeking out.

She dismissed the blueblood. His absence and the casual jingling of the coins in her pocket loosened the bronzeblood's tongue even more. Redglare listened for a long time.

Before she left, the legislacerator pressed the pouch of coins into the bronzeblood's hand. Their eyes glittered and dared to flick upwards to her red shades. "For your cooperation," was all she said, leaving the alcove with a twirl of her cane. For the blueblood attendant, she tossed a single troll caegar. He was doing well enough, judging from the gold cuff links on his uniform.

Redglare left the Cuttlefish with as dramatic of an exit as her entrance: perched on the back of Pyralsprite, who launched upward in a graceful display of power. Trolls pointed and called out as the dragon sped away on fast wings. As hives passed fast enough to blur together beneath them, the two traveled in the silence of their own thoughts. Eventually, a tug at their mental connection meant that Pyralsprite wanted to speak.

"_I do not want to leave you here_," her lusus said.

_"Don't worry about me," _Redglare reassured her for what wasn't the first time and what wouldn't be the last.

"_You said yourself that no one is above the law._"

"_Yes. I did. But with a little luck, those laws can be rewritten._" 

Pyralsprite knew the hardness in her voice all too well. "_Very well. I know that this whole ordeal can only end one of two ways. Be home in time for dinner._" Without a goodbye, she spun midair and the troll dropped from the sky. Wind from her free-fall pulled her hair and at her clothes, making itself the only sound echoing in her ears. In surprise, she lost grip of her cane and watched the likeness of her lusus twirl about in the air mockingly. She lunged for it with one hand pinning her glasses in place. Gritting her teeth, she managed to close her fingers around her cane just as her body hit the cart of hay her lusus had aimed for.

For a moment, Redglare could only lay there and glare at the retreating form of her lusus like she was six sweeps old again. The hay cushioned her fall and nothing was broken, but it didn't stop the impact from taking the breath out of her bellowsacks. Or hurting.

The moment to sulk couldn't last forever. She adjusted her glasses and sat up in the cart, meeting eyes with the flabbergasted farmer sitting at its front.

"Ah," she said, "You aren't heading towards the city, are you? Don't do that for the next few weeks."

The reins grew slack in the farmer's hands, and the hoofbeast pulling the cart bolted. It veered off of the road, doing a U-turn in the opposite direction. With one more wild glance between Redglare and the hoofbeast, the poor troll took off after it.

"Hello and goodbye," Redglare grumbled, hopping out and brushing bits of hay off of her teal and red outfit as she tried to get as much distance between her and the farmer as possible. Chances were that he hadn't recognized her, but Pyralsprite may have damaged her hard-earned reputation by pulling that stunt.

Oh, well. If he did recognize her, he would most likely keep the encounter to himself out of fear and gratitude that Redglare hadn't put her cane through his chitinous windhole upon sight.

Plucking another strand of hay off of her shoulder, she squinted around at her surroundings. Still slightly disheveled, the troll woman stood in the bare strip of rocky soil that separated the edge of the city from the lush, wild forest where the Cavalreapers trained and the occasional hermit hid away.

Redglare would be lucky to see anyone but that farmer until she got back to the city, but there was no way she was going to ask for a ride now. Most everyone that spotted her at the Cuttlefish would assume she was long gone on the back of her giant lusus. That was the point, yes, but did Pyralsprite really have to make her walk so _far_? Groaning and muttering curses to no one in particular, Redglare set off.

* * *

The flood of lowblood trolls that tried to escape the ongoing purge of the city fled to hidden and forgotten corners when they could not flee the city itself. They would either be smoked out like squeakbeasts or manage to evade the drones until the bloodshed was over. The point of cleanups such as this one was not to eradicate lowbloods, but to beat them into submission and cut down their larger numbers.

Past the slums and out of view from the pretty highblood neighborhoods lay an abandoned factory. Imperial drones were once assembled here by the hands of hundreds of lowblood workers trying to scrape by, but there was an incident with a psionic slave that lead to the place being shut down and witnesses being killed off. Now, it fell to ruin and was visited only by unsavory folk and the drones that occasionally swept through the area to cut them down.

The Signless and his circle must have been very desperate to have taken the factory as their temporary hideout.   
It was not the best choice for laying low, as its existence was a bit of an open secret. Word on the street was that this area had already been swept clean. The mixed blood under the legislacerator's boots brought merit to that claim.

The possibility of the Signless's death spurred Redglare onward. That would not do now.

Redglare knew to approach the factory slowly and in clear view, so that the jumpy revolutionists inside would recognize her if they were still alive. Still, stepping around the rubble left by the collapsing building, the troll had to throw herself aside to dodge a bolt of red and blue lightning.

"Hey!" she called, raising her distinctive cane into the air. Moonlight reflected off of her red lenses. "I'm afraid that I'm not in the mood for any games."

"It's Redglare!" A wild head of hair and two rounded horns popped up behind a broken windowpane. Though the remaining glass was cracked or missing, iron bars still blocked access through most of the windows, from the days when the factory was in service and overseers took precautions to keep slaves from escaping. Olive eyes peered through the night, checking to see whether the legislacerator brought company. When she deemed it safe, the Disciple rose and pulled the Psiioniic up with her. "We're sorry about the attack. What brings you here?"

The rush of relief that came at seeing the two alive was enough to take away any ire she might have felt. "Blood beneath the abattoir," Redglare said, stepping up to the cracked stone of the window. "I'm sure you've noticed the chaos happening all around us. I have a lot to say about it and little time to say it."

"Come inside, furrst," Disciple said, giving Psiioniic a meaningful look.

The Psiioniic eyed Redglare mistrustfully, but said nothing against her. Two of the bars lit up with his psionic power, bending back to allow her passage. They all winced at the loud, abrupt sound of the metal giving way, but nothing came out of hiding to charge towards them. She quickly slipped inside and the yellowblood bent the bars back into place.

The grimy interior of the factory contained the long-dead campfires of past squatters and a few dark smudges of dried blood, but none of it was recent to Redglare's eyes. Most of what could be seen was just dust, rubble, and cold grey rock. The stars were visible through jagged holes in the ceiling caused by the fire of laser weapons. Half of the second floor had fallen long ago, and its resulting wreckage took up half of the first floor in a sloping pile. It seemed to have taken the stairs with it. There was no sign of the Signless or the Dolorosa.

"I'm late to the party and I know it. But this place isn't the safest," Redglare muttered. "Are you all alright?"

"Nowhere is safe!" Psiionic said sharply. Redglare pointedly wiped away a drop of spit that landed on her cheek. "Did you know about the attacks on this area?" he asked.

"The attacks are happening all over the city, but I didn't know about the sweep through this area until it happened," she replied. "By the time I sniffed out your whereabouts, the damage was done. Are the Signless and Dolorosa still alive?"

"Alive and well," said the Disciple, but her tone was bittersweet. "By the time we were almost here, we ran into a crowd of highbloods, drones, and the lowbloods trying to get away from them. We were able to make it here in one piece and without attracting attention, but many others weren't so lucky."

That would explain why there was no sign of a recent scuffle in the factory. "This purge shouldn't be happening," Redglare said flatly. "Take me to the rest of the circle and we'll talk business."

Her movements soundless, Disciple beckoned a finger and crossed the room to the pile of rubble. Eyeing the windows, Redglare followed her and Psiionic to a shadowed corner.

A door almost buried by the broken rock stood wedged open in a gap about two feet wide and two feet tall. Behind it was a windowless room, inaccessible except for this small find.

"It's a tight fit," Disciple warned, but she was the smallest of them all and had no trouble slipping into the small space. The Psiioniic did not enter immediately after the oliveblood. Instead, he stood with his arms crossed until Redglare got the hint: he still didn't trust her.

Redglare pushed her cane into his hands. "Letting me go first? Your pity fills me with utmost gratitude!"

It was uncomfortable and coated her finely made dress in dust, but the tealblood was able to squeeze through without getting stuck. Her cane was thrust through the hole behind her as soon as her feet touched the ground on the other side. She caught it nimbly before it could clatter to the ground. When the last member of their little group joined them, there was just enough room in the dark space for them to stand three abreast. 

"It's not just us hiding down here," the Disciple whispered. Redglare could appreciate her lack of animosity. "There are some survivors that are with us. Some of them are followers of Signless, but the rest might be coming around. The thing everyone is worried about furrst and furremost is survival."

"Furremost doesn't work," Psiioniic said quietly. Disciple reached past Redglare to smack him lightly.

Psiioniic snorted and crouched down to lift a small trapdoor. Its hinges were well-oiled and made no sound. Warm light flooded the room and a rickety ladder descended into the hideout. The space looked just barely tall enough for Redglare to stand without brushing her horns on the concrete, but those as tall as the Psiioniic were not so lucky.

Psiioniic held the trapdoor for Disciple and Redglare to climb down. He was the last to descend. Feet on the ladder's rungs and one hand holding the swinging panel open a crack, he studied the small gap of dim light for a few long moments, listening. When no threat made itself known, he eased the door shut.

The hideout was not as sizable as the floorspace up top, and the dozen or so bodies crowding the room meant that there was little privacy. Candles and a single torch provided light. It appeared to have been dug out by hand, though the beams supporting the ceiling suggested that it had been part of the factory's original layout. A handful of trolls huddled in the dirt corners traced Redglare's every move with a varying array of rage and fear. She ignored them.

A couple wooden crates arranged in the center of the room served as makeshift tables and stools. The Signless stood with his back to the entrance ladder, speaking in soft, soothing tones to a group of trolls that watched him in interest. The Dolorosa, a ragged piece of fabric in one hand and a needle in the other, met Redglare's eyes from across the room. The two women exchanged a nod, and Dolorosa caught her son's attention.

The Signless was surprised to turn and see Redglare, but offered her a weary smile. He said some parting words to his audience, and Redglare met him halfway.

"We have much to discuss," she muttered. "Privacy is necessary." Over his shoulder, a yellowblood sneered at her. In hindsight, perhaps some sort of disguise would have been wise. 

"I'll stay here to keep an eye on things," Disciple said. Years of training and building a calm facade kept Redglare from jumping, but she hadn't heard the small troll approach.

Psiioniic, stooping to accommodate his height, looked relieved but asked, "You sure?"

"Of course. I can actually stand, aftpurr all."

"Okay," Signless agreed, but he looked uneasy. No doubt it was the mistrusting gazes boring into his back, for speaking so familiarly with a legislacerator. "But now that these people have seen you, they're going to want answers on who you are. They're all afraid, and for good reason."

"I understand," Redglare replied. She did, but that didn't stop her from being incredibly annoyed. Surely Disciple and Psiioniic had the good sense to see where bringing her here in front of all these trolls would lead. She herself should have. "Here." She reached into her collar and pulled out the silver charm of the necklace she hid under her layers. Cradled in her gloved hand, the silver sign flashed for all to see. "I think that is enough of an answer for them. It might convince them that there's hope to this revolution after all."

The Disciple took the Dolorosa's seat and brought her massive book out to sit on her lap, whether she was planning on updating it or hoping that someone would ask about it. Signless, Psiioniic, Dolorosa and Redglare made their way up the ladder and settled into the dark room above.

"My relations with the Grand Highblood make me privy to information the common folk are not meant to know of," Redglare started. "You've been here, what, a night? You know what happened at the Cuttlefish?"

Signless's odd-colored eyes lit up. "Yes, we do. The. . . foreign ambassadors."

The revolutionaries launched into a patchwork retelling of an encounter with the humans that was at least entertaining until the city cleanup began.

"Mmhmm. They're humans and they're apparently weirdos, but that's going to help us in the long run. You see, my sources tell me that they are soft."

"You mean they're cullbait by our standards?" Psiioniic crossed his arms.

"They're cullbait. But there's strength in numbers, and their civilization is far-away and powerful. On the very edge of Alternia's reach. Of course no one is nearly as powerful as the Alternian Empire, but the Empress still wants something from these humans. I don't know exactly what it is, but there are only two things that she would be interested in: something powerful or something shiny. Whatever it is, she's brought ambassadors of all things here to weasel it out of them. She's taking the sly approach rather than brute force, and that is unheard of. We might be able to get help from them. If they share our same ideals and by some stroke of luck are charmed by our revolutionary effort, they could help turn the tide."

None of them looked convinced, but they were listening. Interested. Signless asked, "Is this what the Grand Highblood told you?"

"No, he told me some things much more valuable. He likes to moan, bitch, and gossip, actually, you'd be surprised. First, this purge was put into place because of the humans. The Condense wants the Grand Highblood to be distracted, in case the prospect of painting the walls with a pretty new color is too much for him to resist. No, he didn't tell me that outright, but it's fairly easy to connect the dots. No, I don't know what that color is, but they're aliens, right?"

"Did you try everything you could to try and stop all this culling?" Psiioniic interrupted. A fair question, so Redglare pushed down her spike of annoyance and that voice in the back of her mind that whispered "No."

"Yes. He pointed out a spot on the ceiling that could use some teal. Our relationship only remains friendly as long as I remain funny and take on all his cases. He doesn't like it when I have anything to say about his religious practices." Her face remained impassive but the grip on her cane tightened. "I'm sorry."

A beat of tense silence passed before the Dolorosa cut in. "Well, we're trying to fix it together. Do you have a plan?"

"Yes. Second, the Condense has ordered the humans to be kept in the dark about more violent aspects of troll society. Like this purge. We can give them a little push in the right direction and let them come to their own conclusions about the state our planet is in. A list of contacts, maybe. I could put myself on the list. I know where to send it to and who would take the fall for going against the Condensce's orders."

"Isn't framing someone against your code of justice?" The Dolorosa's ghostly face shimmered with the same harsh glow of the moon.

"This meeting and a lot of my other activities are wholly against legislacerator code of justice. My personal moral code will allow it. The person to take the fall will be Marquise Spinneret Mindfang. Her blood status, wealth, and reputation are enough to keep her below decency and above some of Alternian law. I have failed to bring her in time after time again." Under her high collar, Redglare felt the tingle around her neck where the bruises had been. During her short career, she had brought in hundreds of criminals to be hung, but never thought about the possibility of facing the noose herself until one confrontation with Mindfang almost a sweep ago. "She can't continue to go unpunished, even if I have to arrest her for something she didn't do."

Redglare knew that the circle had met slaves escaped from Mindfang's hold, and they all knew the stories those victims told. She left time for a pause in which her listeners could digest her slurry of a plan. "The humans are holed up at one of Orphaner Dualscar's hives on land. It's everything you would expect and just past the violetblood side of town. Security is surprisingly loose. An attendant at the Cuttlefish told me that they were meant to be seen with him. I've spoken with the carriage driver, and she swears that the crash was an accident."

"If making the humans known was to create a buzz, then it almost seems that someone wants them to be found," the Signless said. "It could be a trap." Next to him, the Psiioniic's face betrayed his relief.

Redglare tilted her head. "Aren't you the one to go rushing headlong into traps?"

Dorolosa nodded and dragged a hand down her face as if she was reliving countless reckless scenarios. "So," she said slowly. "If you're on the contact list, who else would be? Surely not us. And what would you say to the humans?"

"I would exchange information, of course. I won't reveal our affiliation, but I do want to know whether or not they're worth all this effort. I would put Mindfang on the list. Forge some other evidence to frame her. The goal is to give the humans the means to find important people that they are going to be kept away from."

"What makes you tho confident that they'll help us?" Psiioniic asked with a sort of weary resignation that Redglare had seen in him often. For someone fighting in such a dangerous uprising and having little value for his own life, he was never happy about anything that risked the lives of others. That meant that he never approved of any plan Redglare knew the circle had gone through with.

"Oh, I'm not confident. I've been investigating their trail, and it's very short. There isn't much information at all because they've been in the city for about the same amount of time as you have. I'm here right now because I'm afraid that the Condense will wipe them off of the face of the planet before long, and then an opportunity would be wasted. If you want to drop this idea, then I will stop wasting your time. But how desperate are we?"

The circle called up the Disciple. They gave her a quick run-down of the decision to be made, and then talked quietly among themselves. Redglare contained her restlessness during the wait, staring out the little gap and watching the night's slow progress into day. 

"We're very desperate," Psiioniic sighed at last.

"Believe me," Redglare replied. "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //Up until now I wasn't even sure if Redglare could fit into the story, but here she is. Sorry that the post-scratch kids are so out of character. Honestly, if you guys see any plot holes, point them out. Your comments mean a lot to me.


	9. Off We Go

### Twix

The suite was still not welcoming as Twix bid the Summoner goodbye and stepped in, but the people in it were.

"Wow. The whole gang's here," they said aloud.

The crew was lying rather unprofessionally around the room like seals on a beach, weapon parts in their hands or heads bowed over handheld devices. Twix smiled and shook their head, placing their coat back on the hook. The candle had served its purpose, so they blew it out and set it on the bookshelf. Jane, leaning against a table spread with maps, important-looking documents and a jeweled cheese knife, looked up from the parchment in her hands and greeted Twix with a beckoning wave.

"You're glowing," Dirk said curiously as Twix stepped around him and the cleaning setup he had spread on the floor for his katana.

"I know. I know," they said in exasperation. "Don't be me. Don't use anything glittery in the bathroom."

Roxy leapt up from where she had stretched herself across the back of the loveseat and started to flick off the lights one by one. Jane, Dirk, and Jake stopped what they were doing to stare.

"See?" Roxy jabbed a finger in Twix's direction. "I told these guys and they wouldn't believe me!" she said to Twix.

In reply, they scowled at them all under their sparkling display. "Yeah, whatever. I'd like to take a shower now."

"Oh, turn the lights back on." Jane flapped a hand at Roxy and she obeyed. The captain seemed tense. "How did the meeting go?"

Twix hated to admit it, but the shower could wait. They pulled out a chair next to her and sat back with crossed arms. "Well. . . "

They told her, loud enough for everyone else to hear. As the story went on and the crew's reactions grew steadily more over-the-top, the further Twix slouched into the chair and wanted to disappear. By the time they summarized the most notable interactions with the Summoner, they were practically melted ice cream on the floor.

Jane's eyebrows were sky-high. Twix ignored her blank stare in favor of glaring at the others. The three stooges were clutching at each other and gasping for breath between manic bouts of laughter.

"We're done for," Jake sobbed, clutching his sides. Dirk and Roxy found that hilarious.

Jane let out a long-suffering sigh and did her duty as leader. "Everyone, shut up."

They just couldn't. Dirk snatched up a velvet throw pillow and mashed it onto his face, effectively muffling his laughter. Jake and Roxy followed his example, and Jane looked at Twix as if she was caught between laughing or crying herself.

"Yup," Twix mumbled. "Maybe I shouldn't be the one talking to Dualscar anymore."

"Maybe," their captain replied shortly. "Anyway, while you were gallivanting about with our. . . alien. . . friends, this letter came to me. It's in English, and it's a list of important people we should probably talk to."

"Who's it from?" Twix asked, rising and peering over her shoulder.

Jane took an envelope from the table and fit together its broken wax seal. The astrological sign for Pisces was stamped into a circle of fuchsia wax. "I don't rightly know whether it's from the Empress herself, or if someone wrote to us on her behalf. I do think we should look into this."

Twix took the letter from her. It was a neat list of names, professions, blood colors, and distressingly vague descriptions on where to find important-sounding trolls. _Almost perfect_.

From it, Twix recognized Darkleer's name, but best of all they saw the Grand Highblood. _Purpleblood. Leader of the subjuggulators._ They pointed a finger at the parchment for Jane to see.

"I've arranged a meeting with him through Darkleer," Twix explained. "I think."

"Twix. You're taking years off of my life. What do you mean, _'You think'_?"

"Darkleer ran off after I started asking about him! All I got was that he has business in the city right now and that he'll be back soon."

The Grand Highblood's location on the contact list sounded familiar: _His hive doubles as the subjuggulator's headquarters and is in close proximity to the juggalo church. In front is a massive carnival tent that serves as a subjuggulator hangout and an entrance to his throne room. It's located between the highblood side of the market and the purple quarter. You won't miss it._

Twix read the description out loud. "Do you remember that carnival tent we passed on the way to the Cuttlefish?" they asked Roxy.

"Yeah. . . ." she said thoughtfully. "If there isn't more than one clown church, then I think that's the place."

"Maybe we should check it out?" Twix suggested. "The Grand Highblood is supposed to be busy dealing with criminals, but we can take a closer look at the city."

"Yes, about that," Jane said through gritted teeth. "We have news."

"We're under house arrest," Jake admitted. The rest of the crew had recovered from their hysterics and drifted back to their previous tasks, remaining on the edge of Twix and Jane's conversation.

"Oh, shit. Is that my fault?" Twix breathed.

"I don't see how it can be," Jake replied with a comforting pat on the shoulder. "The lady came around right after you went off with Dualscar. I don't think you could have pissed him off enough for him to give this order."

"Yeah," they said doubtfully.

The four others recounted what happened while Twix was away.

"Dualscar didn't say anything about this while we were talking." They drummed their fingers restlessly on the table. 

"Then we're going to speak with him now," Jane said, an edge to the sweetness of her tone. "We need to branch out and get the ball rolling on these negotiations. We'll go as a group and find Dualscar to ask him if he would graciously arrange more carriages for us."

"The problem with that is, well, he's drunk," Twix said sheepishly. "He's a tall guy for sure, but he drank enough to put himself out of commission for a while."

Silence. Jane pinched the bridge of her nose. "Okay," she said after a minute. "How badly did you piss him off, Twix?"

"Badly._"_

"Alright! Fine. We could wait here until our gracious host is feeling more like a daisy. Or." When the crew saw the wicked gleam in Jane's eye, they knew that her famously short fuse was at its end. "I know what we _can_ do. Twix, you're going to sneak out by yourself."

"What."

"The rest of us are going to leave through the front and make the short walk to Dualscar's personal stable. He went on and on about it during that dinner, and if it's as impressive as he says it is then we'll be able to borrow a carriage. I will show the contact list to whoever's working there and hopefully they'll arrange something for us."

"You don't want me to be a spy, do you?" Twix said urgently. "Espionage isn't really up my alley."

"It's not _really_ spying," Jane said with way too much confidence. "There's a good chance that the rest of us will be stopped from leaving. You'll be the ace up our sleeve, and get out even if we don't manage to. Then you'll take a gander at the city, take some pictures, and maybe you'll even get to see the Grand Highblood. For such a huge house, this place is very understaffed, so it should be possible to slip through the cracks. The rest of us will give off the impression you're still with Dualscar."

"This is crazy," Twix said weakly.

"With Dualscar sleeping off his wine, there's no better time for a stunt like this!"

"Okay," Roxy said. "But what if we can't find any drivers?"

Dirk shrugged. "I had a pony growing up. I can kind of drive a carriage."

Jane drew the line there. If the plan didn't go perfectly, the four of them were simply going to cut their losses and head to _the Lover_. The Auto Responder would be able to give them directions through their electronic devices, as Twix was the only one dumb enough to leave theirs on the ship.

Dirk removed his shades and placed them in Twix's hands. "Here, to keep in touch. Sorry he's annoying."

The matter was settled.Before Twix left, they helped the others tidy the room up. All papers and maps were neatly folded and stacked, the list of contacts along with the more important documents folded up and divided among Dirk, Jane, and Roxy to carry on their person. Twix finally had their long-awaited shower, quietly fuming at the part thrust upon them for this ridiculous plan.

It was _so _ridiculous, but they had no choice but to make it work. It could be possible. They still didn't like it.

* * *

Turning the corner and bumping into the Summoner was like walking facefirst into a brick wall. Twix managed to sputter out some apologies and state their business, but a part of them wondered why they even bothered to try and save face when they practically encouraged everyone they met to think badly of them.

On one hand, they were happy to finally see someone in this endless maze of a hive. On the other hand, the Summoner's reaction to seeing them again so soon wasn't overjoyed.

"I thought you said that the Grand Highblood was away," the troll said haltingly. Why was he the only one walking around?

Twix thought quickly. "I was sent a brief letter. For now, I'm going to visit his. . . workplace. If he's there, then we'll talk. If he's not, then I will take the opportunity to gain some firsthand experience of what your planet is like." Not technically a lie.

They kept their face even, and not even the slight pause in their sentence was enough to warrant suspicion. Unless the Summoner knew something Twix didn't. He was quiet, eyes narrowed down at the ambassador in thought. Twix didn't imagine the slight twitch of his fingers out of the corner of their eye, and suddenly they were acutely aware of the sword just sitting for the taking a few feet to their right. The hand holding the seashell candle remained steady, but inside of their coat pocket, they dug their fingernails into their palm.

"This isn't a good idea for you or for me," the Summoner murmured. Twix almost didn't catch it.

They adopted his soft tone. "Why?" They clenched their fist harder.

"Please turn back. There will be a chance for you to meet him at a later date."

"Tell me why, and then I will decide for myself."

The Summoner's hand closest to the sword went into a loose fist, and for a split second Twix thought he was going to move for it. "I don't want to fight you, but I will," they warned, bracing themselves.

At that, the Summoner loosed a breath and crossed his arms. "I'm going to let you find out for yourself. We never met here," he muttered.

He stalked past Twix like they weren't even there. Feet rooted in place, they stared after him in bewilderment until he was just about to turn out of sight. "Wait!" they called. He stopped in the middle of the grand hallway, the marble walls echoing Twix's words. "What am I going to find?"

The Summoner met their eyes over his shoulder. "The sun's going to be out in a few hours, so few sane people are going to be outside by the time you get there. Do you know where you're going?"

Twix blinked. "I do."

"Leave through the servant's passageways." He nodded his head towards a narrow, almost unnoticeable corridor. "At the end, there should be some spare rags you might be able to make into a disguise. You shouldn't flaunt your differences. Give me your coat, and I'll have it returned safely and discreetly."

Twix didn't know if they should trust him. What they did know was that if he was being sincere, then they had gotten very, very lucky. "Okay."

* * *

Twix crept into the servant's corridor, checking over their shoulder for a last glimpse of the Summoner. He was already gone on silent feet. _Goodbye, then._

The troll had instructed Twix to travel straight down without making any unnecessary turns, as the corridors branched off in an intricate maze that, Twix assumed, led access to most areas of the hive.

"What isn't an intricate maze around here?" Twix had grumbled as they handed him their folded coat. They had been careful to leave their pockets mostly empty while preparing to leave the suite. The notebook was safe with Jake and their little knife had never left the hidden sleeve inside of their boot. Their uniform's Earth pin, their camera, and Dirk's borrowed shades were the only thing to retrieve. Though the Summoner probably recognized the glasses he made no comment. However, thinly veiled panic flashed across his features when he saw the camera, and he practically ordered Twix to leave it.

"Why?" Twix asked. They hugged the gift protectively to their chest.

"If you get caught with that camera, it will make everything worse. Gog, I'm really not supposed to be doing this." Summoner rubbed his forehead. "Don't bring it. I'll keep it safe until your return."

Twix hesitated. When would there be an opportunity like this again? But in the end they handed it over to the troll. "I'm putting a lot of trust in you," they said sternly. "Please bring it back unharmed."

"I will. Be careful." Summoner shook his head once in exasperation, so that they had to duck under one of his sweeping horns. "Or you'll get stuck somewhere you won't want to be."

He was timid no longer, eager to leave and frustrated. In the back of their mind, Twix wanted to bring back the hint of warmth the humans had seen upon their first meeting.

They understood that there was risk for the Summoner to give his aid, and they were thankful for whatever had lead him to do so. Part of them wanted to believe that he was genuine, but the other part whispered that everything was going a bit too conveniently.

As Twix crept down the wooden stairs, wincing every time a step creaked, they just hoped that the rest of the crew was able to find the exit on their own. Summoner had given no indication that he had bumped into them.

Without the familiar warmth of the coat they'd grown fond of, goosebumps made their way up the human's arms. The servant's passageways were as cramped and dark as Twix remembered. Traveling through them alone and with nothing but a single candle made the experience no better. 

Oh, but they _weren't_ alone. Remembering the AR, Twix touched a hand to the shades hanging from their neckline. As there was nothing but cold darkness ahead and behind, these certainly weren't the conditions to be wearing sunglasses. But as much as Twix tried to ignore it, the walls seemed to be closing in on them further. Having someone to talk to was a comfort they'd like to make use of.

They slipped on Dirk's shades and whispered, "Hey, there."

TT: It seems that you're afraid of the dark.

TT: But honestly, how can I complain? Not only are you talking to me directly, but I get to tag along on space adventures for once in my life.

With the text from AR's reply flashing across Twix's line of vision, they stumbled on the next step. Here was the main disadvantage to glasses technology.

"What do you mean? You're always there. You're the ship and this pair of glasses." They squinted over the text and managed to plant a foot onto the next step down without slipping.

TT: For about a year, I've been giving everyone the time, dimming the lights, shuffling your playlists and watching you dick around and talk shit.

TT: It was incredibly boring and nobody really strikes up conversations with the Alexa.

TT: But now that I've gotten paired up with you and we're doing this spite mission, I'm kinda glad I'm not in a body capable of feeling pain. Looks like we're going off into this big, wide death planet. This is going to be really interesting.

He was shit at shuffling the playlists -- Twix was fairly certain that the speakers blasting nothing but Britney Spears' Toxic for five consecutive hours was not a coincidence or a malfunction. But he did have a point. 

"Well, assuming I'm still in one piece when this trip is over, I'll steal you away from Dirk and have adventures more often. I'm sorry I've ignored you. I'm just glad to have someone here with me," Twix said sheepishly.

TT: I'll hold you to that.

TT: Can you even see right now?

"Not that well." Progress was much slower when you could barely make out where your feet were. "But I got it. Did you hear all that stuff Summoner said back there?"  
  


TT: Yeah, you know that his help is very suspicious, right? You shook hands like twice and he's ready to risk his neck for you.

TT: I have some percentages here on the odds of this not turning out okay, and it's not looking good for us.

TT: I'll be fine except in the events of some very specific and worst-case scenarios, but your tangible flesh and bone is at much greater risk.

"I'm sure," Twix replied dryly. "You remembered to take my knife into account, right?"

TT: Yes. I've also taken note of your unsteadiness on these stairs. There are a couple dozen "I've fallen and I can't get up" scenarios I can see happening.

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see. How are the others doing?"

TT: I don't know. I don't have a piece of my conscious in of any of their devices, so we have to text the old-fashioned way. No one's said anything so far.

TT: They could be dead.

"Comforting. . ." Twix had to steady themselves against the rough stone wall, and decided that they had slipped one too many times. "Hate to cut this short, but I guess you're right. Let me know if anything happens?"

TT: Yeah, believe it or not I can be set to vibrate.

TT: Let's go.

And with that, he ceased pestering Twix. Feeling alone again, they removed the shades and continued their descent.

Down, down, down they went. Every once in a while, an offshooting passageway made an appearance. If it had a door, Twix stopped to put an ear against the polished wood. If it didn't, they stopped to look and listen. It was always silent. The candlelight never provided enough illumination to make these branching paths clear, and Twix didn't dare become sidetracked by exploring them.

Soon, they began to worry that the Summoner had led them on a wild goose chase, or that they hadn't taken the few turns they were meant to. Finally, when they were on the verge of turning around and taking their chances with a different route somewhere along the way, they emerged into a small room.

Their first destination at last. Nothing as impressive as the rest of Dualscar's home, Twix guessed it to be a storage room dedicated to the passing of servants. It was similar to the room Summoner had briefly led the crew through upon their initial entrance to Dualscar's hive.

Extinguished sconces and candles hung bracketed against the walls and lay abandoned on scuffed counters. All manner of closely packed cabinets, closets, and tables made the room appear to be much smaller than it was. The stone floor was worn smooth by the comings and goings of many pairs of feet over time.

Gardening tools spilled out of a closet pushed up against the far wall. Boxes and a cracked mirror blocked the outline of a door that looked promising, but first came the making of Twix's disguise. They shuffled around, opening cupboards and peering onto dusty shelves. Their candle's flame burned steadily, but its life was nearly spent.

Ten minutes of searching yielded nothing but discarded cleaning supplies and tools. Muttering impatient curses, Twix dusted off their pants and set their sights on a shadowed set of shelves above their head. They perked up when the hand feeling around a high shelf closed around fabric. They pulled down a moth-eaten silk sheet that sent out a cloud of dust when Twix shook it once. Feeling around once more, they retrieved a battered straw hat.

This. . . was not a whole lot to work with. Twix found the mirror and wasted a minute to try and wrap the sheet into a passable toga that covered their uniform pants and boots, but no result was very convincing. The dust didn't quite mask the fineness of the silk material, however worn it was. 

Twix's eyes caught one of the chests pushed up against the door. Upon heaving open the lid, stacks of folded clothing greeted them. They tossed the sheet aside and breathed, "Finally" to the empty room.

The clothes were of a fine make, in near-perfect condition despite being left here to gather dust along with the other unwanted things banished to storage. No doubt they were Dualscar's. Twix rifled through broad-shouldered jackets and dress shirts embroidered in gold and silver. Nothing here was going to fit, but it was more of a matter of finding something that wouldn't attract any attention in the busy streets.

At the bottom of the chest, Twix found a cloak that would do just the trick, with the subtraction of its jeweled clasps. There were only two of them, so it was quick work to retrieve their knife and cut away the metal stitched into the thick fabric. Twix batted the twinge of guilt away. Dualscar was rich enough to buy a hundred cloaks and wouldn't miss the maiming of this one.

The clasps were silver zigzags set with Amethysts. Together, the two might have formed the Aquarius zodiac sign, but whatever it meant to the trolls, Dualscar was using it as his mark. Twix had seen the pattern repeated everywhere in the hive.

If Twix was caught (and AR's calculations weren't reassuring), they didn't want anything so valuable and so obviously identifiable as "borrowed" from Dualscar on them. They carefully tucked the clasps into a pair of folded pants sitting at the bottom of the chest. To replace them, they reversed their uniform's brooch so the Earth design was resting against their shirtfront.

The cloak itself dwarfed Twix. The hem dragged slightly on the ground and the hood cast most of their face in shadow, but the glimpse of troll fashion they had seen thus far would probably allow it without the human coming across as too suspicious. They would still have to hold it closed from the inside and conceal their outfit under the cloak; Nobody on this planet seemed to wear white.

_Good enough_, they shrugged at their reflection. Once the sheet and the straw hat were put back where they belonged and the clutter in front of the doorway was moved just enough for Twix to slip by, they lifted the wooden bar and hoped for the best.

It took a shove, but the door creaked open. A gust of wind blew out their stub of a candle through the crack Twix peered through. 

This opened into a deep section of garden even more overgrown than what Dualscar had shown them, Twix realized, a place completely abandoned for the flora to grow as freely and wildly as it pleased. This was what Twix had been itching to see.

Where the stone path had been swept clear and the plants more or less tamed near the glass room, here the trees twisted into unnatural shapes and grass poked through what remained of the crumbling stone path, overtaking it in some places. Glowing flowers, spread out from their neat placements, turned their faces towards the intruder. They provided a soft illumination in place of the moonlight's full force, any light from above straining through the thick canopy. All was quiet.

Twix wrestled with the door. Thick vines clung to the outside of the wall and wove together to form a barricade. By the time Twix's brain finally made a few connections-- vines, Strangleclaw, danger -- they had already managed to wedge most of their torso through without noisily disturbing the packages piled behind them. The vines mercifully made no movement, and they managed to squeeze outside with a more cautious eye on their surroundings.

_Honestly, how dare Dualscar have a cool secret garden._

Twix slipped Dirk's shades on. "You wouldn't happen to have had night vision all along, would you?" they muttered.

TT: Night vision is expensive. Bodies are even more so, and I've made it clear that I don't want any upgrades until my all powerful creator starts cracking on one of those.

TT: I do, however, have a lighter.

Sure enough, a tiny lighter flipped out of one of the arm pieces. It brought forth a blue flame for Twix's viewing pleasure before retreating.

"Of course," Twix said in amusement. "Well, that's going to come in handy, too. Any word from the others?"

TT: They succeeded.

TT: I'm actually surprised.

"Great! Great." There. If they could do it, so could Twix. Now wasn't the time to be having second thoughts. "They're on their way?"

TT: Yes.

TT: Not a lot to relay back to you, because all Jake said was as follows:

TT: GT: (Cripes okay I guess we're doing this.)

GT: (There's a madame with a set of honestly impressive biceps and we caught her wrestling "hoofbeasts" which are the horses that pull the carriages. Jane did her whole leader bravado thing, and the madame stablewoman doesn't seem to care who we are, which is refreshing. We just have to help her wrestle hoofbeasts into submission so we can hitch them up and oh Dirk is down.)

GT: (Well this fella has impressive biceps of his own, and I do say so for myself. Off I go!)

TT: And then just:

TG: so we did get a ride but it's a rustbucket alien car that feels like its made of flesh

TT: So concludes the exploits of Team 2.

Twix blinked. "Oh. Well, that seems very exciting. I really hope no one gets arrested."

TT: Sure

TT: Now that we've made it all the way out here, do you know where to go?

"Yes. That. Well, I've trailblazed before."

TT: I don't believe you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // I've decided to try out a writing blog, where I post one-shots and accept requests. lumicrystallines.tumblr.com/


	10. The Grand Highblood

### Twix

By the time Twix's boots found their way across a short stretch of wilderness, through suburban neighborhoods and into the heart of the city, the optimism they felt standing in that secluded part of Dualscar's garden had taken a drastic hit. They weren't lying when they'd told the AR about trailblazing, but this trip was giving them all kinds of new experience.

In both Prospit and Derse, trying to puzzle your way from one end of the kingdom to another was like trying to walk through a surrealist painting. Things had the tendency to look the same, or as if they were turned on their head (_especially_ staircases). Twix remembered all too well how easy it was to be caught traveling in a continuous loop. The Prospitans and Dersites were not bothered with their own architecture, scurrying to and fro with steady purpose and always seeming to know exactly where they needed to be. Height-wise, they reached just above the hip of an average human, so Twix always had the mental comparison of them to ants.

The fact that Twix had been the honored captain of their own exploration team the last time they'd set foot in either kingdom was an important distinction from now: stealing and stripping a cloak from their host in order to slip out, undetected, into the public. Like a criminal. _Oh, well._

Managing to get from Dualscar's hive on the edge of the city to the Grand Highblood's downtown carnival tent without being found out was certainly harder than Twix first thought. Getting out of the garden was easy enough, despite the broken stone trails proving unreliable. Retracing their steps when faced with dead end after dead end, they were finally able to cross off the wrong paths and find the magical combination leading to the solid wall separating the forest from the estate.

Here was a pavilion made more lovely by being situated in this forgotten corner, at least in Twix's opinion. Moss and stubborn weeds poked through the plain stones at its base. The moonlight cast down upon the clearing made the white marble glow. Flowering trees scattered petals in one great lavender blanket across the ground.

Twix dusted off an intact bench. This would be a peaceful place to escape from unwanted visitors, though Dualscar didn't strike them as the type to sit in gardens. They were, after all, hazardous.

On point, some kind of grinning Venus flytrap with actual fangs crept around a pillar to snap at their ankles. They only sighed and stepped calmly out of reach.

Then it was a matter of climbing a tree, scooting carefully from a high branch to the top of the wall, and dropping down to the other side. The forest was all of the untamed beauty of the gardens with added time and no influence from any gardener at all.

They stayed under the cover of the trees, keeping close enough to the road that they were able to follow its course, and far enough away that anyone traveling upon it would have a harder time spotting them. The private drive was one of a few winding routes stemming from the main road, and this Twix followed back to civilization. There was little traffic all the way out here, but a few times they had to crouch in hiding until a traveler or two passed a safe distance away.

It was a two-hour walk until the city finally came into view. The road carried out of the trees and made a wide turn towards the city, forking into two paths that went in or shot left into a wide expanse of barren ground in the southeast. The length of a football field separated the rough city border from the forest's tree line, and there Twix peered out from between the leaves of a spiky purple bush and chewed their nails.

Their first major obstacle was border security.

The city was not walled, but watchtowers doubling as checkpoints were positioned around its edges. The one before Twix rivaled the trees behind them in height. It was erected out of massive blocks of smooth black stone and sported what looked an awful lot like a laser cannon at its top. They remembered seeing it it during the carriage ride to and from the Cuttlefish.

The crowd lingering around its base was new. There was a loose line of disgruntled trolls on foot, in carriages, but mostly in Alternia's version of a car. Twix blinked and donned Dirk's shades.

"When we went to the Cuttlefish, do you remember there being a holdup while you were with Dirk and everyone else?"

TT: The carriage slowed when it passed the tower, but there was no security like this.

TT: Worst case scenario, they know we're not with the rest of the crew and are hunting us. But the guards aren't searching anyone yet. You said that the Grand Highblood's been dealing with criminals in the city, right? Maybe some slipped the net and the authorities, whoever they are, have tightened things up to catch them.

TT: Are we still going in?

Twix chewed their thumbnail in contemplation.

  
Jewels worn by the small crowd glinted for them to see even at this distance. A violetblood leaned out of a flashy pumpkin carriage that would have had Cinderella envious, irritably flapping a fan with one hand and holding a rather large silver blade in the other. A dozen sleek limousines sat idling. Trolls stood all around, muttering with each other. Those whose blood ran coldest dared to send dirty looks towards the armed guards blocking their way.

Still, not all of the crowd was made up of highbloods. The middle-class was present starting at olivebloods, who for the most part stood quiet and unnoticeable. 

"Yes. I think I can blend in," Twix answered.

TT: You forgot to fake a blood color.

And ugh, he was right. Every troll's individual symbol and color were on full display no matter what they wore. 

Twix secured their hood, nervously fiddling with the hem of their cloak. "Okay. I'm burgundy. My sign is . . . an infinity sign. But I'll just try to stay unnoticed so nobody asks."

TT: I say you sneak into somebody's trunk. What if they ask for identification? Not only do you have none, but your disguise isn't going to hold up against close scrutiny. Burgundy is the lowest of the low, anyway. Who says they won't kill you just for fun?"  
  


"They won't do that!" Twix said, eyes wide.

TT: Who knows? Anyway, everything I've said makes a good point.

"Maybe." He was at least partially right. "And how do you suggest I get into the back of someone's car?"

TT: When nobody's looking, hop in. I assure you it can be done. I'm the brains of this operation and you're the legs, so all the action is resting on you.

TT: Look, they're starting to let people through.

"I thought you were onto something here, but I really don't think that's going to work," Twix hissed. 

TT: Simple is best.

They pushed the shades up and squinted to get a clearer image of what was happening.

The guards had taken a few steps aside to make a bottleneck opening, allowing one car or carriage at a time to pass at a slow crawl. The drivers were waved through after they did a quick circle of the vehicle. Those of lower castes, mostly on foot or horseback, gathered at the back. They seemed to have resigned themselves to being last.

"I'd have to get through all those people in order to reach a car. They'll see me."

TT: An opportunity might present itself. Your call, Legs.

The two of them waited and watched. Twix had to keep up an inward chant to remind themselves not to chew their nails or give into nerves. Everyone's eyes were on the slow procession gaining entrance to the city, but Twix waited a couple extra minutes to make sure no one's attention strayed to the tree line.

They couldn't come up with a better idea.

"Okay," they finally blurted. Their nerves were fraying, so it was best to get this over with before they had time to chicken out. Like ripping off a band-aid. "I'm going in."

They rose from their position and stepped out from the cover of the trees. A moment of stillness before their feet remembered how to walk, and somehow Twix made it without making so much as a snap of a twig to draw attention. When the lowbloods at the back of the line did look over their shoulders, it was only to see another stranger approaching from the road. 

The ambassador didn't know how to react when some gazes lingered. Their sweaty hands gripped the ends of their cloak closed, and they offered a smile that was more of a grimace.

TT: Be cool. Be natural. Be a bro.

Twix pretended it was a political meeting. They'd attended plenty of those on Earth and other planets, though not as any major player or to make any really impactful decisions. The gentleman to the left looked disapproving enough to be that one Dersite Authority Regulator when Twix and their old crew accidentally left the ship in an apparent no-parking zone.

The familiar pang of a headache came on when Twix thought of the faces they once knew. Thinking of those times was going to mess up their game. The pretending wasn't working.

A bundle of tense energy or not, they were able to approach and join the standing huddle without any confrontation. Soon, the trolls found other things to focus their attention on. Twix took slow breaths. _So far, so good._

They slowly worked their way as close to the front as they could without someone turning around and growling at them. It certainly made things harder when you were shorter than everyone else, but they managed to stand on their tip-toes and get a view from between two heads. The highbloods were still filing into the city. As much as Twix racked their brain and studied the vehicles passing by, there was no opportunity to stow away unseen.

"Snap a picture," they murmured, pointing their gaze towards the procession and the guards posted around the tower's base. The AR obliged.

The highbloods needed no identification but some part of their outfit displaying a caste color. The guards didn't seem to make a big deal out of checking because most people incorporated it obviously onto the accents of their rides.

Shame Twix didn't have that. Being detained wasn't a very fun experience, but in the past it had mostly been the result of minor misunderstandings. The parking job, for instance, required a two-hour wait in a dim office and then an obscene amount of paperwork to get the ship back after it was towed who-knows-where. Twix crushed the messy feelings that came with the memory.

There really wasn't a way they could spin sneaking out like this as a misunderstanding, and the Summoner's words still weighed heavily on their mind. The consequences to being caught here were probably going to be a whole lot worse.

A beat-up convertible, sagging under the weight of all of the mixed trolls piled onto it, rolled up the the guards. Words were exchanged between the person that stepped up to the car and an intimidating clown riding shotgun (Perhaps the Grand Highblood's style wasn't so unique). Twix couldn't make out their conversation, but teeth were bared and faces flushed with anger as it quickly grew heated. The people around them shifted uneasily, but none were so panicked as the teal driver caught between the opposing sides.

The purpleblood woman rose to spit at the guard's feet. The driver wisely slipped into the back seat, his carpool friends giving him room but sharing none of his wariness. They cheered the clown on.

Here was a distraction, and Twix realized the time they had to make use of it was short.

There-- just a few feet to their right, a lone tealblood several cars down the line gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. His eyes were glued to the brewing fight. Inching over, the human kept one eye on his tinted windows and the other at what was happening in front of the crowd. The guards parted for a hulking figure with spines jutting out of a body protected by carapace. Only Twix was surprised to recognize it as a robot. The juggalo woman, undaunted, was sizing it up with a sneer.

Heart pounding in their ears, Twix turned away as the sharp hum of a laser firing up cut through the quiet muttering. An instant later, the blast fired was enough to temporarily rob the senses of everyone in the immediate area. The click of the door opening and shutting long enough for a certain stowaway to lunge into the back seat was drowned out by the light, the roar of the laser fire, and the short, panicked screams of the crowd.

Twix didn't need to see the aftermath to know that woman was a charred corpse.

They lay face-down on the floor, eyes squeezed shut and praying to whomever might be listening that the windows were dark enough and the man at the front seat rattled enough that they would go unnoticed. Their hood was up, and the cloak settled over their stiff body matched the black upholstery. . . whatever the upholstery was made out of. The floor had give, like flesh; it was like being smothered by the inside of something's mouth. Twix shifted slowly, in degrees, to turn their head to the side enough to be able to breathe again. All they could do now was focus on staying still, staying quiet, and stifling the urge to retch.

The shades were balanced haphazardly on the tip of Twix's nose. A twitch and they would slide off.

TT: We live or die tonight, broslice. Good job.

* * *

The tealblood's scuttlebuggy inched its way to the front of the line. Rolling down the window and facing a grim-faced Threshecutioner, the driver stammered, "I am Greeve Misraa, legislacerator here on business" and rambled on about the weather and loyally serving Her Impervious Condescension. 

The Threshicutoner put up a weary hand to get him to shut up. Greeve privately thought managing traffic had to be a downgrade from conquering planets. She looked annoyed enough to agree, though that might have been hard feelings leftover from the incident with the purpleblood woman.

"Carry on with your business," she ordered. He was less than happy to do so, though getting away from a condensed crowd of trigger-happy highbloods was always a plus.

The stowaway remained undiscovered as he steered through the maze of streets, working his way inward to the more reputable highblood areas. His driving reflected his nervousness, never truly soothed due to the nature of his mentioned "business". A certain human felt every bump and harsh turn.

After narrowly missing a six-sweep-old yellowblood scurrying across the road, Greeve finally pulled into a trash-ridden alleyway, killed the engine, and rested his forehead against the steering wheel. When a few long minutes of quiet reflection did nothing to ease his disquiet, he primly removed his glasses to bang his head on the steering wheel on a few times.

"Treasonous," he muttered under his breath. Bits of an internal monologue were escaping beyond his notice. ". . . rotten thinkpan fucking fool, _Redglare. . . _"

Oh, but a debt owed was a debt repaid. _No sweep like the one you're fucking in, as they say. _He would do what Redglare and her skewed sense of justice wanted, just once, and only because they were both trolls of their word. If she promised that his involvement in her small revolution would never surface, Greeve had every reason to believe that she wouldn't spill when the Condensce eventually caught her and snuffed her out. 

He replaced his glasses, going to set them straight and smooth his hair in the rear view mirror. Movement caught his eye, and he turned to find a cloaked stranger hunched over on the floor of his backseat.

"What the _fuck_."

"Hi," they said meekly.

"Get out, get out!" he roared. 

The stowaway obliged, scrabbling for the door handle and rolling out into the alleyway. Spitting curses, Greeve stepped out of the scuttlebuggy to follow, a pen clenched in one of his hands.

"Who are you?" he demanded, pointing the pen threateningly at the stranger.

They sprung to their feet with one hand outstretched, palm up as if to coax a wild lusus. The other hand clutched a thin knife at their side. "Sorry about that. I didn't steal anything, just hitched a ride. I'll leave."

"You stay right where you are!" Greeve shrilled. Though the stranger's eyes were concealed by a pair of triangle shades and a hood, he could see them pause to consider the pen he was waving around.

He clicked it and sent a bullet whizzing by their ear. The stranger flinched away wildly, and the bullet shot out of the alley to embed itself into a street lamp.

"What's your blood color?" Greeve asked slowly, confident that he could intimidate some answers out of them now.

Who at the office would send a spy? Anyone, even Redglare, though it was more her style to see things for herself. His coworkers would rub their hands and cackle with glee if it got out that Greeve Misraa was having dealings with a corrupt legislacerator and her treasonous lowblood friends.

"Red. I don't want to fight you."

"Then you should have taken another job. Who are you working for?"

"I'm not working for anyone! I was just trying to get into the city."

"An unlikely story. Why would someone of your caste sneak into this city _now_?"

"I'm trying to see someone," they said shortly.

A burgundy blood, unadorned with the color of their caste, snuck into a highblood-dominated city where the juggalo church was currently taking mass sacrifices at random. No one sane would do that.

Except, Greeve knew Redglare, and he knew who else was in the city at the moment. If she was anything to go by, members of Signless's following were capable of very reckless and stupid things for the sake of their dream Alternia. Maybe this burgundy didn't have anything to lose.

"Take off the shades," Greeve ordered. 

The stranger obeyed. Greeve's grip on his pen loosened when a face, nothing close to a healthy grey, greeted him with eyes that definitely weren't burgundy. "You're a mutant."

They shrugged awkwardly.

"You aren't _the_ mutant, are you?"

"Uh-- no."

"You're attending a rally, then. Ugh, don't answer. Listen. You and I are never going to see or contact each other ever again. If you dare speak a word of me to anyone, I am going to hunt you down. Understand?"

"Yeah."

"Then go. We never met."

* * *

Twix

Twix was honestly shocked that they'd made it to stand in a bustling plaza and see the tent's looming shape in the distance, though they expressed no such thoughts to the AR.

"Ha!" Head down, at least a head shorter than almost every troll in sight, they never raised their voice above a whisper. Twix trusted that no one would hear or pay any mind to their mutterings. "We've made it! What did I tell you?"

TT: Literally 1.5 hours ago you were ready to collapse face-first into the dirt and start sobbing.

TT: You heavily implied that this whole ordeal was a mistake.

Twix accepted the roasting as well-deserved. "I know," they replied. "This is a crazy plan and I'm going to hold it over Jane's head forever. That guy had a _pen gun_."

TT: That he did. Greeve Misraa, if that's how you spell it, is one hell of a loose end we've managed to pull out of our literal and figurative asses.

TT: He said he's a legislacerator. I don't know exactly why the crew would have meetings with a lawyer bounty hunter, but if you ever meet again you are going to act as though you've never seen him a day in your life. It would be good to do a little background check on him, but I doubt we can be upfront about it.

"Troll facebook?"

TT: Just because you use ancient technology doesn't mean that this alien race does too.

Twix quieted to dodge a mountain of a troll carrying a load of parcels on her back. The troll woman, eyes on the ground and more focused on the task at hand, didn't acknowledge Twix's existence.

So far so good, despite the close call earlier. No one noticed another run-of-the-mill cloaked passerby on the street, even if they were a little smaller than average. Lanterns, torches, dazzling display lights and neon signs provided enough light for Twix to wear Dirk's shades, lending to the disguise and allowing conversation with the AR. However, the electronic lights were starting to shut off with daybreak a few hours away. Every shop was closed, the stalls packed up for the day.

The Summoner was right about the crowd starting to thin. With sunrise so close, the remaining people outside walked quickly with their heads down, anxiety thick in the air. This was a different kind of rush hour, where everyone got off work and wanted to get home as soon as possible because staying out late for a drink could have dire consequences.

Trolls were surging downhill and Twix quickly became accustomed to ducking and dodging. Progress upward was slow. No one seemed to care about anyone's safety other than their own.

They doubted that they'd get an audience with the Grand Highblood now, but they'd come so far and a look at the subjuggulator headquarters up close was what they would settle for tonight. Here and there, the AR took snapshots of everyday life on Alternia.

Soon, Twix stepped into a curtained shop doorway, the niche in the wall a hopeful spot for a break. The market was huge, and Twix didn't know how long it would take for them to cut through it in order to reach their destination on the other side. Trading a few hushed words with the AR, Twix kept one eye on the passerby and another on the lettering engraved into the door. The AR scanned the jumble of scratchy letters to save for future reference, in the hopes of creating a translation between written English and Alternian.

Both of them agreed that they were probably sheltering in front of a barbershop. Under the letters, there was a little decal of a crab slicing a lock of hair.

TT: What if the barbers are actual crabs?

"Is there a crab worker's union, then?"

TT: We can organize one while we're sleuthing around.

TT: Greeve would try to sue us for sure.

Over the hustle and bustle, a scream pierced the air. Twix stopped their snarky reply mid-sentence. The scream was joined by dozens more, each of them cut short. It sounded like real pain.

The crowd's fear sharpened into a tangible thing like electricity in the air. While the human froze, the trolls were spurred into a frenzy of pushing and shoving to get away. Twix leaned out of the doorway, searching for the source of the screaming. A woman rushing by turned her head sharply to look behind her as she passed them. A horn like a spiked antler caught the side of Twix's face hard enough to make a sharp _crack _and sendpain exploding across their cheekbone. Dirk's glasses were knocked askew and Twix's hands shot up to press the lenses back against their aching face.

One of the antler's hooked barbs caught the edge of their hood, pulling it back as the troll clumsily tried to disengage. Twix was too slow to shove it back down before the side of their face and most definite human complexion could be glimpsed.

The woman looked back at her own reflection in Dirk's shades, startled, and quickly freed herself. She ducked between two burly yellowbloods. Twix lost sight of her in the crowd.

TT: What the hell?

TT: You good?

AR's text was warped around the spiderweb cracks overtaking the glasses' right lens. Bars of color glitched in and out of the screen.

Sucking in one long breath, Twix turned to huddle against the door. 

"Fine," they muttered. Gently, they removed the glasses and inspected them. The frames were intact, but the triangular lenses were being held together by little more than hope. Twix was afraid to touch them for fear that the glass would finally fall apart. The panic-inducing _crack_ had been the glass splintering. "Wow, um, are you feeling alright?"

This time AR's words flashed in large text across the front of the cracked lenses so Twix could receive his response without having to put them back on.

TT: No pain for me. I'm software.

TT: Are you feeling any headache, confusion, lack of coordination, memory loss, nausea, dizziness, ringing in your ears, sleepiness, or excessive fatigue?

Twix had to squeeze their eyes shut to focus against the pain. "No?" They gingerly traced their cheek, wincing at the contact. Their fingers came back without blood, but it definitely felt like there would be a nasty bruise whose existence needed to be explained away come their return. Twix thought of the cut above Summoner's eye and a vase filled with spears. "I'll say a gun on the wall fell on me, but first things first. This isn't just people being afraid of the sunrise."

TT: Yes, but there's going to be plenty of time to talk this out when we're in the clear. Right now, you should lose yourself in that crowd because there's safety in numbers. Follow it until we've gained some distance from this place.

"I think we should keep going."

TT: "Keep going", not as in keep going *away* but keep going *towards* the unknown threat a mob of people are fleeing from.

TT: I knew you would say this.

"Because you know everything," Twix said, trying for humor but falling short. They slipped the shades back on and plunged into the fray before he could say something else to persuade them.

As people barreled past, the lone human flattened themselves against the wall of the barbershop, bringing a hand up to tug at their hood and protect their face and the AR from any more collisions.

TT: Wow okay, fuck me and all my advice then.

"Listen, hate to say this but it's hard to see with your text on top of all these cracks. Tinted lenses in the middle of the night and all. I'll take a peek, then we'll fuck off and get you fixed up. Does the camera still work?"

TT: The camera lens is scratched, so any picture taken from this point forth is going to be shit quality.

TT: No alien Sunglasses hut is going to be letting us in, so save it.

They inched along as fast as they could against the tide, but soon it was possible to separate from the wall and break into a run. Twix and the crowd passed each other by. 

The land drew upwards in a series of drawn-out hills that became steeper and steeper. Mazes of stairs were incorporated off to the sides, arching over the extreme slopes and zig-zagging across either sides of the street to access shops on higher floors. Twix hurried through streets empty save for a few stragglers that didn't spare the human more than a moment's glance. Their boots crested the tallest hill and halted at the waiting scene.

It was carnage.

Breathing heavily from the extended run and cradling their aching face, Twix didn't immediately recognize the blood for what it was. It looked as though people were passed out on the cobblestones in pools of colorful paint. . . but a second glance, and it became clear that those people wouldn't be getting up again.

Standing in the middle of it all, fully functional but covered in blood himself, was the Grand Highblood. 

TT: **Hide.** Do it now.

Clapping a hand over their mouth, Twix ducked behind the corner of a building built with drooping edges and gleaming shingles like scales. There was nowhere to stand but a writhing flower bed. A vine snaked across the top of their boot, retreating after a panicked jerk of their foot.

"Dealing with criminals," Darkleer had said. This was slaughter.

TT: I don't think he saw us.

TT: You are going to have to do something drastic.

Twix didn't answer or breathe for fear of being heard. Back pressed against the wall, they strained their ears and kept their eyes on the massive shadow twisting across the street. The Grand Highblood turned his head, and Twix was certain he knew.

"You did a lot of killing today. Great," a voice said, softly enough that Twix almost missed it. A person stepped before him. The lone streetlamp cast her shadow as a lithe figure with twin braids, exaggerating what must have been an already impressive set of curling horns.

"Aw, wicked sis. You must be the Demoness," the Highblood rumbled. His movements and words seemed sluggish as he tilted his head down at the woman. "What brings you to me on this fine night? The mirthful messiahs calling me up?"

"More likely I'd be here for these poor souls you've butchered, but maybe I'm here to congratulate you on the cleansing of the unworthy. Just keep doing what you're doing. Keep things in line like your messiahs want, I suppose."

With a shaky hand, Twix slipped off the shades and ignored the cut-off protests from the AR. It was so much easier to see without them.

Minding the agitated residents of the flowerbed underfoot, they lifted a boot and set it down at the pace of molasses. One step at a time.

"Didn't imagine Death's worker as a motherfucking rustie."

Coming as close to the edge of the building as possible, Twix dared a peek at the trolls.

The woman, the Demoness, didn't appreciate that comment. She crossed her arms and used a pair of white wands to tap a slow beat against her shoulder. Her eyes and lashes were a striking burgundy, but her dress was black with neon green accents. She could be part of some special class of troll the humans had yet to see.

"Who knows what's real?" she said dryly. "You're off the shits high. _Maybe_ you're seeing things you aren't supposed to see because you're eating things you aren't supposed to eat."

The Grand Highblood gripped his bloodied clubs so hard his hands shook. "I've been tipping back the Faygo, sister. Wicked elixir is ceremony."

_"Oh, sure. _It's not the Faygo we're talking about! Didn't your lusus ever teach you better?"

Contrary to the rest of his demeanor a moment before, the Highblood's eyes were filled with predatory focus and they were red. "Sis. You and I aren't going to have a fun time."

"You wanna take a swing at the hand of Death, if you're so angry? I'll let you try, but I'm sorry to say you can't kill me. I'm not allowed to die," the Demoness spat. "Funny thing is, you're not allowed to die yet, either. I'll just make you hurt." She twirled a wand in either hand. Blue and yellow energy flashed in her eyes. The brightness was hard to look at, gathering itself in an aura around her and traveling along the length of her arms to concentrate in her weapons.

As soon as the first strike hit, Twix was going to flee for their life. They wouldn't look back until _the Lover_ was in sight.

The Highblood blinked once at the powerful display. He shook his wild mane, the look of crazed hunger left him, and surrounded by all of those bodies he laughed. It sounded like a mix between a growl and a particularly booming bicycle horn.

"Death's passing me right the fuck by? Miraculous," he said gleefully.

The Demoness' pulsating glare darkened. Twix braced themselves to push away from the wall as soon as she went to electrify the Highblood, but no matter how badly she wanted to she didn't give into the urge.

She screwed her eyes shut and gasped in air like she was preparing for a scream, but when she released it in a forceful exhale the energy flickered out. Her pupils and irises returned as she openly assessed the Highblood's major arteries and weak points.

"For now," the Demoness replied. A cool mask slipped over her features, but Twix likened the twitch of her eyebrow to regret for a street brawl left unfinished. "I'll leave you to your sacrifices."

A sharp flick of her wands, a flash of blinding blue and yellow light, and she was gone. Twix was left seeing stars. They ducked fully behind the corner, bracing one arm against the wall and frantically rubbing at their eyes.

_I should run now_, they thought desperately, but to do so with patches of black lingering over their sight would run the risk of barreling straight into a lamp post.

Left alone, the Grand Highblood lost himself in a fit of laughter.

"You hear that? She said it was funny. I think it's _hilarious_," he said, letting loose another bout of giggles, and then it was too late to escape unseen.

He did not approach Twix's corner. Instead, they listened to his feet drag across the ground as he took a few steps in the other direction. His shadow retreated.

_What game is he playing?_ They were petrified.

"Ain't it nice to know some things are real? Faith drives me, of course, but every once in awhile the messiahs bless me with some fucking proof. S' nice."

A blob of shadow, previously assumed to be part of the background projected by the streetlight, moved. A body on the ground raised its head weakly as the Highblood tossed up one of his clubs, twirling it in the air and catching it as casually as in a game of baseball.

"Now you know what'll greet 'cha after this! Your blood might even be fit for the walls of our church." The Highblood came to a gentle stop, raising a club with a note of finality as the person on the ground lowered their head to the stone. "I had a nice motherfuckin' talk, hope you had a nice listen. Goodbye--"

"_WaitWaitWait!_" Twix shouted. Without thinking, they'd sprung from their hiding place.

The Highblood's purple eyes widened. The distance of about four yards separated them. The troll on the ground didn't run, and Twix's fears were confirmed. He was too injured.

Something told Twix that passing as a mutant troll wouldn't fly the same way with the subjuggulator as it did with Greeve. Putting on the shades wasn't worth hindering their sight. They just tugged the hood of their cloak over their eyes and hoped that the shadows would provide enough concealment.

"I'm a sacrifice," they blurted, raising two hands as a sign of submission. "He's not worthy. Let him live."

The Highblood tilted his head and turned away from his victim. "Not often I see willing volunteers. You think your blood is beautiful enough to witness some motherfucking miracles?"

"My blood is the most beautiful shade of them all." Twix took a step back, unable to hide the tremble in their voice. Their mouth was bone-dry, and fear threatened to drown the cleverness they needed to muster. "The question is, is your church holy enough to receive it?" Two more steps.

"The messiahs hear your words, and they won't forget. What motherfucking color _are you_? Why's this blood so grand if it's sloshing around in such a little body?" A slow grin spread across the Highblood's face. He edged forward, matching Twix step for step as they retreated backwards into the downhill street they'd come from. "Is it teal, wriggler?"

Twix said nothing. He was enjoying this game, it was clear.

"Cerulean?"

They passed the flower bed. Twix had to readjust their footing to stand on the steep slope. The Highblood stopped at the edge of the flat intersection to bathe them in his shadow.

"Indigo? I've never seen the likes of you around, so it can't be purple."

"Why don't you come and find out?" Twix shouted with every bit of bravado they could muster, tugging their hood down and sprinting away like their life depended on it. Because it did.

Good or bad, the Grand Highblood gave chase.

Making your way down the more extreme areas of the marketplace would be tricky enough without having to do so at full speed, a murderer at your back. Unwilling to put so much faith in the traction of their boots, Twix veered over to the sidewalk and used the guardrail of a staircase to swing onto it and hurtle the stairs two steps at a time.

The troll behind them had the advantage of much longer legs-- his large hand brushed against the edge of their cloak just as Twix scrambled out of reach. Desperately trying to hold onto their lead, they dashed across the stretch of second-story platform with the Highblood closer than before.

Twix weaved through branching paths giving access to shops above the first floor, but no matter how many times they gave false starts or hopped railings, the Grand Highblood was faster than he looked. He was trying to corner them. The combination of their stomping footsteps against the thin metal made a loud racket that would have attracted attention had there been anyone left to notice.

After wasting a few precious seconds to try and force open a shop door, Twix risked a glance behind them. The Highblood met their gaze in amusement, his own now that startling shade of red. He threw a club with enough force behind it to knock them off their feet. 

Twix ducked wildly, tripping and skidding down onto the metal platform. The club flew over their head in the blink of an eye, but their pursuer was already on them.

They kicked at the Highblood's grasping hands, scooting backwards with one hand pulling at the rail and the other clutching the AR to their chest.

He paused, hunched form looming over them, and momentarily ceased his attempt at capture. Twix hurriedly tugged the hood across their face and made it to the edge. The rail creaked ominously.

"Fuckin' violet . . . now that's a hue I'm not often allowed." His gaze was glued to Twix's cheekbone, over the exposed patch of bruise.

"I've changed my mind," Twix ground out. "Bye."

They rolled off of the edge and hit the ground hard.

It _hurt_, but there was no time to lay there in a daze. Urging their body to _get up, go, go, go,_ Twix stumbled to their feet. Fearing another flying club, they whipped around to watch the Grand Highblood.

The troll hadn't bothered to retrieve his club from where it clanged to a landing a few yards away. As he crossed his arms against the railing casually, the metal creaked under his weight. He only grinned down at Twix and held his remaining weapon in clear view.

"You're a weird little fucker," he said. "And dishonest. Backing out on a promise is bad manners."

"My apologies." Whether or not Twix's heart was beating a mile a minute, their diplomat's tongue sometimes bothered to show itself when it was needed. They tried in vain to steady their breathing. "I was too eager to make an offering, but now I've realized there are better ways to show my respect to the church."

"Are there, seadweller? Like what?"

"Like. . . converting others."

"Eh. You're probably just a fucking coward. You _do_ sound like a seadweller, silver tongue and all that. Maybe you're not totally dishonest."

What would Dualscar do? Twix's first thought was "_be a condescending jerk_", and they were pretty sure violet was a caste above purple. But Dualscar had shown respect towards the Grand Highblood. Perhaps being the head subjuggulator meant having an importance that went past blood color.

"Maybe," they said, trying to come across as an aloof troll used to getting their way. "I have to admit I'm not ready to die."

"That's not up to you, now is it?"

"I guess not. But I don't think it's up to you, either."

"Interesting. . ." The Highblood trailed off curiously. Twix was staring fearfully into purple eyes instead of the red of blind fury, so they figured they were on the right track. "Y'know I don't really need volunteers, right? Whoever the fuck gets to decorate my walls also gets a surprise honor."

"I don't know what to say, then. I still don't want to die, and. . . y'know. Maybe you can mix together some pigments. For a nice paint or something. Like. . . grab some berries?"

The sky had lightened during the chase, and bit by bit it was it still changing. Sunrise was almost upon them, and Twix realized their greatest weapon was simply time.

"What?" The Grand Highblood was smiling like there was a joke being told and it was taking him a minute to understand it. Twix wanted to both laugh and turn tail and flee, because there was still very much a deadly weapon in the Highblood's large grip. 

"I mean, there are other ways to make paint? . . Doesn't it smell bad in the church?" 

The Highblood shrugged one shoulder. "Just gotta block off some of the rooms. It's hard to find legislacerators 'cus they keep complaining, though."

"Uh. . . okay. Yeah, well . . . maybe try to make paint that's not blood?"

The Highblood laughed, snorting and shaking his head. "Never thought I'd stand here listening to some fucking heresy, but it's funny. I'll give you that, little violetblood. Heresy is treason, and treason is punishable by death. It _is_ up to me to decide, because I carry out the Condesce's law and the word of the Messiahs. Ya get to give your blood to the walls after all, my prize for a good chuckle."

Twix backed away from the platform, but the only alleyway behind them was a dead end. They would have to try and escape following the street, either left towards the murder scene, or right on the way to the marketplace's heart.

"Check the time," they said desperately. "The sun's practically out."

"I know. Do you wanna end this now or live out a few more days hiding like a squeakbeast? If the sun doesn't get ya." The Highblood yawned and scratched his neck. "I wouldn't want it to boil the blood out of your veins."

Twix latched onto this kernel of hope with both hands, edging towards the right. "I'll take my chances out here."

"Mm." The Highblood watched them go with the lazy look of a predator. "What's your name?"

Against their better judgement, Twix replied, "Well,_ come and find out_." 

"Cocky motherfucker. I'll see you again, and you won't like it."

"Until next time." And that would have been that, if Twix hadn't remembered something important. Inwardly, they cursed. That injured troll they'd meant to save-- _fuck, he's going to roast out in the sun_.

It was too much to hope that the Grand Highblood was going to turn around and seek shelter in one of the shops so long as the sun was below the horizon and Twix was within his line of sight. They had progressed a few yards down the street, but it seemed like a bad test of fate to pass him again in the opposite direction.

The pause they made to consider these options was enough of a test on its own. 

Without warning, the Grand Highblood hopped the railing and landed feetfirst onto the street before Twix.

"Fuck, I gotta few seconds to spare," he said. He didn't bother running after Twix. He took his time, passing the bloodied club from one hand to another. One of his steps was about three of the human's.

Resigning themselves to violence, Twix reached for the knife in their boot. "We can still walk away from this. Just let me go to the man you hurt."

"What's a little street thrashing here and there? If you fight for your life, there's a small chance you might win it. Miracles happen."

A flash of blue and yellow light lit up the air behind the Highblood's head. Before Twix had time to think, the Demoness sent him sprawling across the stones with a bolt of energy from her wands. His head lit the ground hard, and he lay still.

"I know I like to run my ignorance tunnel, but you really were not a possibility I was expecting," the Demoness said without sparing the dumbfounded human a glance. Hovering a few inches above the ground and emblazoned in crackling energy, she crossed over to the Grand Highblood and gave his limp body a firm kick. "He's out."

"Who _are_ you?" Twix cried.

"Oh. I'm officially the Handmaiden, but Demoness works. It doesn't matter."

"What. . . I mean, thanks, but why did you do that? Who do you work for?"

"Wow, you're getting right to the tricky questions. I don't work for the empire or the Condesce, but that's all I'm going to share. Let's talk about _you_, human. You must have a thinkpan the size of a marchbug to come up with the logic behind any of your actions."

"Er. . . well, are you going to try and arrest me? Kill me?"

"No. But I can't promise to stand in the way if anyone else comes along and tries to. You need to get out of here."

"Wait! Why were all these people killed, will you at least tell me that?"

The Handmaiden finally turned her head at that plea. Her feet lightly touched down, and some of the brightness died. Twix could now look at her without squinting. "That's just the way Alternia is," she said. "Shut up for a second."

Flabbergasted, Twix stared back at the Handmaiden as she crossed her arms and studied them from head to toe. She was beautiful in a deadly, pissed-off kind of way. "Man, I just can't place it," she sighed. "Yes, you are different-- kind of weird --- and you don't seen to have any violent tendencies. I think you're being played with. A pawn in a large cosmic game, maybe, or it all might last a week."

"So your boss is messing with me?"

"He's messing with everyone. Unfortunately, I'm not omniscient. I'm sure you've noticed I say a lot of '_maybes_'."

"I. . . guess. How do you know I'm human?" There was no point in trying to hide their species now, but Twix's eyes darted around their surroundings in search of an ambush or any hidden eavesdroppers.

"My boss is omniscient. It blows. Ah, ah, ah! Shut up, no more questions. We both have to be on our way." She pointedly raised a finger towards the sky. The sun, and a monstrous wave of light and heat dragged along with it, was quickly rising over the tops of the hills. "Get away from me. Fair warning, no one will ever believe you if you say we met."

"I-"

"Go!"

"Won't he be missed if he dies?" Twix gestured wildly towards the Grand Highblood.

"I'll take care of his gross ass. Tomorrow he will have the worst hangover that ever was."

"Okay--"

"The sun is right there! Get going!"

"When will I see you again?"

"You-- If you know what's good for you, you will forget I even existed. I do bad things, and they follow me around." Without a goodbye, she jabbed Twix's chest with a wand. Light exploded behind their eyes, pressure built up from all sides, and Twix's brain felt like it might explode. Then it vanished.

They were standing in the clearing of bodies. At their feet, a familiar troll blinked weakly at them.

"I guess I'll just die crazy," he rasped.

"Me, too." Twix dragged a hand over their eyes, feeling like their feet might give out from underneath them at any moment. But there was no time for that. They replaced the shades to be greeted with:

TT: That was not what I meant by fucking drastic

"Let's get you out of here," they told the troll.


	11. Out on the Town?

### The Disciple

Redglare's surprise appearance didn't exactly boost morale for the trolls hiding in the old factory. The confines were cramped, the threat of death hung imminent, and every single one of them was holding onto their last fraying nerve. Many wanted nothing to do with the mutant and his rebel cause, and cursed the misfortune that made their paths cross. Disciple couldn't even blame them for that.

No one liked the fact that Signless and his circle went to talk to a legislacerator in secrecy. Some had even heard of Redglare, and the embellished stories that spread in the blink of an eye made matters all the worse. The icing on the cake was the necklace she'd flashed to show her allegiance to Signless. The symbol of its little charm was far from inspiring: a tiny pair of irons on a chain to represent a pair of manacles in the shape of "69". The real ones were commonly used by the Empress for the purpose of painfully drawing out executions.

_Our irons really are in the fire now_, Disciple couldn't help but think.

The symbol had been Redglare's idea to begin with, something about turning what represented the fate they all feared on its head and making it their own. The woman thought of the necklace as her defiance, or maybe she wore it to atone for the sets of burning handcuffs she herself had gotten placed on so many trolls. Disciple had understood that it was personal to her, and Redglare had never gone into much detail.

It was true that a handful of others had followed the teal's example and wore their own tiny sets of irons, though Signless had never taken it as his official mark. It had been agreed that the irons were too much of a temptation for fate, and it would be best for Signless to remain, well, signless. None of the survivors here shared Redglare's dry sense of humor, either.

There was not much effort wasted disagreeing between those who supported Signless's preaching and those who didn't. Survival was more important. Those who didn't like what they saw simply left.

This was probably all for the better. The factory was never a safe place to hide long-term. The fear that it would be stormed by drones again was justified, though the circle made sure to repeat that it wasn't because of Redglare about to return with government assistance.

It was a quick separation. Already, a few had gathered up their belongings and slipped out without saying a word. Disciple, Dolorosa, Signless, and Psiioniic weren't working to make them stay, they were working to keep them from ratting the circle out, spreading their location, or leaving with misunderstandings about their cause that would make for unhelpful rumors later. The little irons Redglare wore on her necklace would be one of these misunderstandings. 

"So you're willing to die for this ideal world of yours?" a fellow oliveblood asked Disciple. His eyes were on Signless, who flitted around the room assuaging fears and trying to smooth things over. 

"Yes," Disciple answered. 

The man shook his head. "Well, I'm not. If your allies are going around flashing stuff like that, then the Condensce is going to give you what you're all asking for."

"I see your point. But what if we actually change things? The truth is that I have nothing much to lose. The Hemospectrum made sure of it."

"I'm not going to throw my life away. I don't think you should, either."

As much as Disciple loved words, they often failed her. She was not much good at coming up with things on the spot. The powerful speeches she helped construct for Signless's sermons and the recordings in her book were the result of time to think and a quill in her hand. 

She watched the man go. Others followed his exit, so many packing up and heading out that Disciple was convinced that there would be none left but the four members of the circle. Three trolls stayed to prove her wrong: Tassei Anlire, Lirgen Ovroko, and a scruffy kid that was being cagey about their name and caste. 

These few had stayed behind because they were swayed by the circle's teachings and wanted to hear more. And so, whether they liked it or not, they were now the circle's responsibility until a safe shelter could be found. With Signless doing most of the talking, Disciple and her friends made sure to discuss their next course of action plainly before everyone.

"Thank you for hearing us speak. I hope we have the chance to meet again, but first we need to get through this alive. Staying here isn't an option. It's only a matter of time before the drones come back," Signless said.

"I think we should split up into smaller groups. We should be harder to find that way," Dolorosa said. "But I must say we are strangers to this place. Do any of you know where to find shelter?"

"Are you leaving the city?" Keen yellow eyes peered out from underneath a battered, droopy hat. A young troll of at least six sweeps crouched on top of a crate and watched everyone without blinking. They had refused to give a name, and their caste was left unclear. Everyone let it lie for now.

"Not yet." Dolorosa combed her nails through her hair wearily. "Though I don't think we could even if we wanted to."

"I would still like to host a rally, if we can," Signless said, casting a questioning look at Disciple, Dolorosa, and Psiioniic.

Disciple shook her head. "We'll talk about it later," she muttered.

Signless dipped his head in acknowledgement. "If it's possible, we'll spread word," he continued to the strangers in their company.

"I don't think it will be. We might all just die," a yellowblood woman piped in. Her name was Tassei Anlire, and she insisted that her psionics were too weak to be of any real use. That would keep her from being swept away and installed as a ship's energy source, but it made her just as killable as any other lowblood. She seemed to have put a lot of training towards her physical strength to make up for the lack.

"If the church is taking so many sacrifices for a mew paint job, then at the rate they're going they'll have all they need soon." Disciple said. She turned her quill over and over in her hands, resisting the urge to bite it. Now might not be the time for puns, but she just couldn't help it.

"They probably already have enough," Dolorosa murmured. "What I hope is that they'll cease hunting and become preoccupied with painting."

"In the meantime, we need some different places to go," Signless sighed. "Suggestions?"

Next to Disciple, Psiioniic had said little thus far. He drummed his fingers against his crossed arms in an erratic rhythm. He was constantly shifting his long legs into a new sitting position. It was making her restless, too.

Lirgen Ovroko, the last stranger in their company, had been allowed one of the crates to himself for the sake of his weary bones. Disciple had been watching the aging bronzeblood whenever she thought his attention was elsewhere. His scarred face was lined, back bent from a lifetime spent toiling. The tip of his left horn was snapped clean off. It was a feat to live for so long, especially for someone so low on the Hemospectrum, but Disciple was uncomfortably aware that in actuality he was not many sweeps older than she was. Almost the same amount of time had passed since either of their hatchings, but his body had been rendered old and brittle, while she had not yet reached her prime.

She truly believed that blood color itself did not make any one person different than another. The matter of lifespans, she had no choice but to admit, did. How could you form connections with someone that would be dead in practically the blink of an eye?

Lirgen sighed quietly, studying the cane lying across his lap. It startled her when his eyes flicked upwards to meet her gaze.

_He's still keen. Probably why he's been able to grow old in the first place._

"There's my home." He strained his raspy voice above the hopeless mutterings. The conversation had been going nowhere. "It's in the lowblood side of town. I hafta say that I don't know what state it's in. It might be ransacked, and it might a' been burned down. All I can say is that it has a basement more comfy than this one."

"That's generous of you to offer," Signless said with a tight smile. "But are you sure that the lowblood areas are safer than where we're at now?"

"No. But there's what you said earlier about the subjuggulators killing themselves out for awhile. My area would have been one of the first places hit, and they've probably moved on by now. There are only a couple of clusters of lowblood hives beyond where I live. Easy pickings. They might be totally finished with the sacrifices already."

None of the tension drained from anyone, but Signless gave a grateful nod. "And how do you say we get there?"

"I've lived in this city for my entire life, and I know it well. There are some paths we can take that might lead us around the chaos, but in all honesty we'll just need luck. And a lot of it."

Disciple was good at being lookout, and was about to offer her skills when scraping and shuffling from above killed the words in her throat. Footsteps. Someone had wiggled through the crawlspace and was in the small room above them.

Nine sets of grey hands were on their weapons within an instant. Before Tassei could shout a war cry and give them all away, Disciple leapt onto a crate so she could tower above everyone else for once. She bristled with her fiercest scowl, put a finger to her lips, and drew in a quiet hiss. 

The others seemed to get the point, but Disciple didn't know how long they had.

Six sharp knocks rang through the metal of the trapdoor. A beat of silence, and then nine more followed in quick succession.

Tassei, Lirgen, and the kid looked to the circle for answers. Confusion, fear, and armed trolls crowded within a tight space were always a bad combination.

Disciple's mind raced, and exchanging tense looks with her friends she knew they had come up with the same half-formed thoughts as she. _Six and then nine. It could be Redglare. It could be someone else._

Her straining ears might have picked up an unintelligible whisper behind the trap door.

The knocks repeated. Six and then nine. 

Psiioniic, eyes aglow to bathe the room in sickly red and blue, held up five fingers and began to count down the seconds.

"_Oh, holy fuck. Are you in there? I don't want to get shot!_"

The count came to a surprised halt at two. _You know this guy?_ Psiioniic mouthed, with some difficulty due to his fangs.

Disciple shook her head and bared her teeth in annoyance when everyone around her did, too. Whoever the nasally voice belonged to, they weren't bothering with whispers anymore. "_I feel that if I open this door I'll get impaled. So if you're in there, sound off, and if you're not, that's even better," _they said.

Disciple held up a hand to discourage her companions from making the first move. The intruder probably had more to say. They waited.

_"I have a letter. I come in peace, I'm alone, yeah, yeah. Redglare sent me."_

Signless dragged out a sigh through gritted teeth. "Why didn't he just start with that?" he muttered. "Open the trapdoor."

Tassei took the initiative, shouldering past the volatile Psiioniic (not a wise move) and shoving open the trapdoor with such force the hinges squealed. A man was seized by his collar and yanked through the hatch to land with a dull _thud_ at everyone's feet. Glasses askew, he spit curses at the yellowblood as she grimly held her axe to his neck.

"Whoah, Tassei, ease up!" Signless cut in. "If what he's saying is true, then he's an ally. Even if he wasn't, there's no need to rough him up without good reason."

"I'll let up when I'm sure he's not here to cull us," she growled. "This is another legislacerator."

"Not _all_ teals are," the stranger hissed. "Just like all yellowbloods don't have the physique of a wet noodle, apparently. Your veins are bulging. One paper cut and you're dead!"

"You wanna say that again?" The blade pressed harder, choking his next words.

Signless's hand darted out to rest over Tassei's grip on the long handle of her weapon. Though he was no match for her strength, the action surprised her enough that he was able to jerk the blade up from the stranger's neck. "Please."

Tassei shook him off with a scowl. There was a moment where Disciple tensed in preparation to defend her friend, but Tassei snorted and reluctantly did as Signless asked. Though she removed the blade from the stranger's neck, she still jabbed it into the ground inches away from his face. "If you make one move I don't like. . ." Her dark grin said enough of the consequences.

"You can get up, sorry about that," Signless told the stranger. He extended a hand, not faltering when it was smacked away.

"Un-fucking believable," was the only phrase out of the tealblood's angry mutterings that Disciple was able to decipher. She thought he did look like a legislacerator, with his teal suit jacket and professional ensemble. Glossy horns ending in cruel points bracketed his chin. He swept the dust from his shoulders and tried to slick his hair back.

"What's your name?" Signless asked.

"It's not important. Just know that I'm only here because I owe Redglare one."

"Must've been a big favor," the kid squeaked from behind Dolorosa's skirt. Tassei silenced them with a glare and twirled her axe like a menacing cane. The yellowblood wouldn't have been happy to know of the resemblance to a signature Redglare move.

"We still don't know if we can trust you," Signless continued. "So give us your name. We won't share it with anyone else. _Right_?" He cast a pointed look around the room. There was a mumbled chorus of agreement, however reluctant.

"They call me a stick up the ass." Tassei's axe was back within a heartbeat. "Okay, gog, I get it. They call me the Acquirer, but that's on the down-low, too, you hear? I don't want it getting around that I'm associated with you lot."

Tassei shook her head. "Not good enough. What's your caste name?"

"Are you kidding me? If you're going to have this cloak-and-dagger meeting with me and prance around with nothing but obscure titles, then at least extend the same courtesy to me. Your reputations as kind, soft-bellied fools precede you. The mutant, his pseudo-lusus, that one girl that likes to quadrant vacillate, the other guy . . "

Three steel claws, lovingly tended and kept mercifully sharp, joined Tassei's axe against the Acquirer's throat. "You're going to acquire some things you don't like if mew keep talking," Disciple hissed softly. "Caste name?"

The man's shrewd features contorted in anger, but neither Disciple nor Tassei relented. "Greeve Misraa," he spat eventually. "If this gets out to _anyone_\--"

"You must owe Redglare a _huge_ favor!" came a snickering voice behind Dolorosa's skirt. Dolorosa silenced the kid by reaching behind her and lightly smacking their drooping hat.

"Thank you for complying, Misraa," Signless said evenly. "You got a letter for us?"

"Get your cultists off of me."

Disciple sighed through her nose, but nodded to Tassei before retracting her steel into the discreet panels on her gloves. After a moment's deliberation and some heavy eye rolling, Tassei let Misraa breathe again.

Misraa sneered at them both, fingers trailing over a pen in his breast pocket. Then he seemed to pause, changing his mind and reaching into his jacket instead. He slowly withdrew a small, square envelope without pulling any tricks. With deliberate motions so as not to startle the revolutionists into separating his head from his shoulders, he handed it over to Signless.

The mutant hummed and ran his fingers over the envelope, studying it back to front without opening it. "This isn't going to explode, is it?"

"If it was rigged," Misraa said flatly. "I would perish with the rest of you."

"We'll see." Signless broke the seal and flicked the envelope open in one deft motion. No explosion, but a folded square of paper. Bright eyes roving over lines of text, he leaned back to allow Dolorosa and Psiioniic to peer over his shoulders. 

Disciple itched to step over and see the contents for herself, but immediate curiosity was not enough to overcome the unease of turning her back on Misraa. "Have you read it?" she asked him.

"Don't need to," was his annoyingly vague reply.

Psiioniic turned away from the letter in Signless's hands and shook his head. Dolorosa was good at keeping her face impassive, but Disciple recognized the telltale tic in her jaw and knew something was up.

At best, Signless was mediocre at masking his strong emotions. At worst, his attempts were laughable. Now, his eyebrows shot up and the corner of his mouth quirked oddly to reveal a pointed canine. "So. . . Greeve Misraa, right?"

"Yes, I'm Greeve Misraa, damnit! What did she say about me?"

Disciple, faster than Tassei, smacked Misraa's hand away when it reached out to yank the letter out of Signless's grasp. Lucky for him, too, because Tassei would have cut it off.

Signless glanced between the letter and its messenger. "We'll speak about it later." He shot an apologetic look towards Tassei, Lirgen, and the kid.

Lirgen flapped a gnarled hand. "Ah' understand. A knife in the back don't feel too good." The young troll only blinked their owlish eyes and shrugged under the shadow of their hat brim.

"How does this change things?" Tassei demanded.

When Signless folded the letter and extended it to Disciple, she took it with an uneasy feeling brewing in her gut. There was no typing quirk used in the handwritten note, the words scrawled in nondescript black ink.

_The bearer of this message is a bit of a stick up the ass, but please don't kill him. He's useful!_

_Really hate to send another suspicious person down to ruffle everyone's feathers, but I can't let you stay there any longer. It's not safe, and GH is pissed, too pissed for me to talk to him. It's hard to explain, but something's got him interested and I don't want to take the chance that it might be you. I have a place prepared. Meet me at The Cute Spider tavern, the messenger will show you the way. Do _not_ bring anyone but the circle._

_\- 69_

"It changes a lot," Disciple said slowly. "Now we have somewhere to go, but we can't bring the rest of you with us. Except for Misraa."

Tassei's expression darkened. "Got it," she said stiffly. "I'll go, I guess. It's only some wasted time."

"Can't blame ya for grabbing an opportunity." Lirgen's scruffy brows furrowed as he looked from Tassei to the kid. "My hive is still open to you. We can get there quickly enough if we hurry."

The kid nodded absently, staring long and hard at Signless before hopping out from behind Dolorosa and planting their boots in the dirt. "Good luck. I'll listen around for news of you after all this is all over!"

"Hold on," Signless said. He looked pleadingly to the rest of the circle. "We can't bring them with us, but we can still make sure they get to Lirgen's safely. You guys go with Misraa, and I'll go with these three. I'll meet up with you later."

"_No_!" Psiioniic exploded.

"No," Dolorosa agreed. "It would be better for them if you didn't go along. If they are caught associated with you, the punishment could be worse than death. _I _will go with them." With gentle hands, she straightened the kid's hat, smiling at the thumbs-up they gave in return. They had most definitely struck a soft spot within her.

"Nope. I'm going," Psiioniic cut in. "Thorry. Thee you guys later."

Disciple realized she was worrying the end of her quill between her teeth and stopped before she ruined the nib even further. Of course she would accompany Lirgen, Tassei, and the kid, but with all three of her friends vying for guard duty she didn't want to join the argument. Nothing would get done. "Who do you want to go with you?" she asked the departing trolls as her friends turned to furious whispers.

"Dolorosa!" the kid cheered.

"Psiioniic," Tassei said immediately. "As much as I would love having a rainbowdrinker on our trip, Dolorosa is way too conspicuous. . . His psionics as good as they say?"

"Yes," Disciple replied.

"Then I will agree with Tassei," Lirgen said. "We should be on our way."

If not for their input, Dolorosa, Signless, and Psiioniic could have argued between themselves for an eternity (always an effective method to stall time, though it was generally Disciple in Dolorosa's place). Whenever the safety of others was concerned, everyone had the unhelpful tendency to want to offer themselves up so the others didn't have to. No one was exactly happy about any one of the circle being separated from the rest of the group, but resigned themselves to the decided outcome. They barraged Psiioniic with cautions, warnings, and well-wishes.

"Yeah, yeah," the yellowblood said. "You're making it thound like I'm not coming back."

"_Great. Great_!" Misraa cried. "Now that we have all that settled, we need to _go_. We're going to be blown up at any second."

Tassei and Disciple bared their teeth at him, but he was not cowed. In his mind, the threat of drones outweighed the threat of the two women.

_I guess he's right._ "Who's leaving furst?" she asked loudly.

"Can everyone comin' along with me manage a little stealth?" Lirgen asked, casting a long, assessing look over his group.

The kid whipped out a black bandanna and tied it around the bottom half of their face, further masking their expressions and making their appearance even more suspicious. "_Yes_!"

"You better. I wouldn't be too hung up on leaving you behind," Tassei said. "Let's go." Twirling her axe against her shoulder, she set off with purpose. Lirgen and the kid were a step behind, offering the circle a short wave and a tip of the hat respectively. They scampered quietly up the ladder and into the factory above. 

Psiioniic was the last to ascend, pausing on the first step. He jabbed a long finger at Signless. "Watch him," he told Disciple and Dolorosa.

"We'll try," Disciple sighed.

Signless huffed and swept his cloak aside to cross his arms. "Watch yourself!"

"Don't do anything thtupid!"

"Same goes for you!"

"I know it's gonna happen!"

"Shoo!" Misraa said, making the appropriate gestures with vigor. He was teal in the face from frustration. "Get out of here!"

Dolorosa laughed, an act of genuine mirth and a warning to Misraa at the same time. Her fangs gleamed a pearly white against her jade lipstick, and with a hand adorned with perfectly manicured claws she waved goodbye. "Be careful."

With a last nod, Psiioniic was gone. The trapdoor swung shut behind him with a heavy _thud_. Disciple sat and waited until long after the shuffling and murmurs above had subsided.

* * *

Disciple, with Misraa right behind her, led the others out of the hideout after half an hour of peace. Maybe "peace" wasn't the right word. Their new legislacerator acquaintance grumbled and whined the entire time, comparing them to squeakbeasts in a hole, just sitting around to be hunted. They ignored him and stayed anyway, in order to give the other group a head start.

Misraa would be the one giving directions, but he was perfectly fine with not taking the lead ("The more bodies between me and a gun, the better"). Out of the circle, Disciple was the one with the most stealth and the best eye for spotting danger. Dolorosa, woefully conspicuous but trying her best to conceal the glow of her skin under the hood of her dress, guarded the rear.

There was no sign of a struggle to be heard now or during the time they'd lingered underground. Disciple thought it was safe to assume Lirgen's group had been able to leave the area safely. She was pleasantly surprised to find no trace of their trail; one of the new people, perhaps Lirgen, had known how to cover it up well. It saved her the work of doing it for them.

There was not a troll, lusus, or drone in sight. Disciple herded the group over to a crumbling chunk of concrete ceiling, blasted some time ago from the factory's missing roof onto the ground several yards away. If anyone was watching from the open field beyond, then it was big enough to hide them from view.

"What direction meow?" she asked Misraa.

"What?" he hissed.

"What direction _mow_?"

"I parked my scuttlebuggy by a casino a few blocks away. They run smoke machines inside and out until the sun comes up, and the crowds are huge, so it should be hard for even you sorry fucks to stick out."

That was a smart move on Misraa's part and helpful information to have, but Disciple's temper was very short at the moment. "What direction, Misraa?" she snapped.

He rolled his eyes. "Right."

Disciple peered over the top of the concrete and tried to will herself into a calm focus. A wide expanse of rocky ground, littered with trash and tough weeds, stretched between them and an empty street. Decrepit buildings bordered the street's other side. All was still. "Alright, everyone. There's no cover beyond here, so we need to move quickly. But not too quickly, or someone might think we're up to something." There was really nothing to do but hope that nobody turned the corner and saw them at all. "Dolorosa, I'm sorry, but. . ."

The jade woman sighed. "It's alright." She spat into her hand and dragged her palm through the dirt, smearing it onto her pale cheeks with a look of resigned distaste.

"It's going to take a lot more than that," Misraa snorted. Signless hissed sympathetically through his teeth and nodded.

In the distance, there was a pile of rubble and knocked-over trash bins sagging against a wall and spilling rotten garbage into the road. A single flickering streetlamp illuminated the mess. Dolorosa followed Disciple's gaze and nodded stiffly. They'd been through this song and dance before, unfortunately.

"Being dirty is better than being dead," Dolorosa said flatly, the corners of her mouth lifting.

"We'll make Redglare run a bath. Let's go," said Disciple.

* * *

Disciple didn't know what the crowds around the casino were like during times of relative peace, but tonight they were riotous even with most of the lowblood would-be customers in hiding. No matter your caste or what the government threw at you, life simply went on. At the moment, highbloods could still afford to hit up the slot machines for a night and complain over the whistles and bells about the depleted work force. They were doing so in numbers to rival the marketplace crowds.

When it came to ensuring you still had enough employees to keep things running in the event of a mass slaughter, it was generally understood that it was up to the businesses themselves to do what they would to keep at least some of their workers working. Be it trapping susceptible lowbloods in the workplace or in a musty basement, basically anything went. You just never knew what worked when it came to subjuggulators; though lowbloods were their main target, violence could be done against anybody for any reason.

Misraa hadn't been kidding about the smoke machines. Disciple coughed and squinted through wreaths of colorful smoke, trying her hardest to ensure that the group stayed together. With the distractions of all the noise, flashing lights, and perfumed smoke, at least it was easy to blend in. They never even entered the sprawling casino, but simply standing outside it was enough to make you feel overwhelmed.

The legislacerator took the lead. He ducked and weaved through the crowded streets with the ease of practice, the suffocating environment having no visible effect on him. Several times he drew too far ahead and was lost from sight, but despite Disciple's panicked certainty that he had led them into a trap, he always found his way back to the group. 

"It's Free-round Friday," Misraa had shouted over the din. "It's why everyone and their lusus is here." A second later he hip-checked a drunken passerby ogling Signless. The man stumbled into a cerulean woman seated next to a trashcan bonfire. She ceased her guitar-playing to deck him across the face. 

"They might be offering free drinks, too," Misraa continued without batting an eyelash. He swerved neatly away from the spreading brawl. The circle followed with haste.

The group swam through blocks worth of colorful smoke and drunken bodies, until finally, finally, they left it all behind. Yeah, the streets were dirty, filled with suspicious people, and not one piece of public property could escape vandalism on this side of town, but it was nothing Disciple wasn't used to. She was just glad of the relatively fresh air.

Misraa led them into one of many dingy alleyways and ordered them to help rifle through an enormous pile of trash and discarded sheet metal. It was to everyone else's great surprise that, slowly, a pristine black scuttlebuggy was revealed under layers and layers of stacked garbage. It was Dolorosa, already covered in filth and thus having nothing to lose, that worked the most diligently.

"Alright," Misraa grumbled when they were done. He went to pull down his rolled-up sleeves, looked at his brightly stained palms, and decided against it. "Not all of you are going to fit in the back. Who wants to get in the trunk?"

Dolorosa, with her bloodpumper of gold, volunteered herself. "You're going to need something powerful to get this smell out of there," she said good-naturedly as Misraa scrounged his pockets for the keys.

He didn't take it as a joke. His eyes actually welled up with teal tears, whether it be from despair or from his proximity to the jadeblood.

So to the trunk Dolorosa was banished. Signless and Disciple had the joy of curling up on the floor of the back seat and allowing pillows, baskets, blankets, and about eleven pounds of loose papers to be piled onto them. The junk not only covered them completely, but it filled the back seat up to the point that the back windows were blocked and the two had trouble breathing.

Misraa didn't say much after the seating arrangement was settled. Before he squished a few stacks of wool blankets over Disciple's face, she was able to see the sweat beading at his forehead, how his hands shook. Misraa was still a stranger, but every inch of his being seemed dead set against being within a mile's radius of the circle. What could Redglare have on him to make him do something as horrendously illegal as this?

Disciple's hand shot out from the pile and forced open the door a second before it slammed shut. She yanked Misraa closer by the wrist and peered at him through the gap her arm stuck through. "You obviously don't want to be here, but thank you for this. I have to say, though, if you betray us. . ." She let the steel in her gloves slide forward and gently brush against the meat of his arm. Misraa's hands were callused, so perhaps he did do field work after all, but the skin wasn't nearly as tough and worn as her own hands.

He found it in himself to force a smile, but it didn't come off as sly and unruffled as he probably wanted it to. Disciple thought she could understand. He could very well die for a cause he didn't believe in.

"You look more like a meowbeast than ever. Don't worry about my betrayal. Redglare's already done enough intimidating on your behalf," he replied. When Disciple loosened her grip, he ripped his arm away and slammed the door. It didn't catch her arm, but it was close.

Another door slammed as Misraa stormed into the front seat. Disciple shifted around Signless and everything else to try and get comfortable. She could hear the low muttering of Misraa's quiet, fiery rant and the wild jangling of keys as he treated them harsher than strictly necessary. Signless poked her shoulder after the engine started. He was lying on his front, one of Misraa's discarded papers in hand. Rows and rows of tiny teal text without paragraph breaks marched across the page.

"You want me to be nicer?" she snorted.

"I don't like threats, and you know that, but maybe I can be a little too trusting. We'll ask Redglare what she thinks about him when we get the chance. If this is a trap after all, we might have to kill him."

"Hmm." It was true. "I'll apologize if this isn't a trap and he turns out not to be a major stick up the ass."

A quiet chuckle. "How nice of you."

Disciple couldn't help it. The blankets were warm, Signless and her book were within reach, and the hum of the engine reminded her of her lusus. She drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Misraa hit the brakes hard, jostling the cargo hard enough to wake Disciple. For a minute, she couldn't remember where she was, and blind panic set in. Signless put a gentle hand on her shoulder to snap her out of it before she could claw her way out from under the pile.

"What's going on?" she hissed.

"I don't know. Misraa, what's happening?" Signless said.

"Shut up, shut up. Gog," Misraa muttered. The blare of horns sounded everywhere, and he added the scuttlebuggy's to the mix. Without warning, he hit the gas and made a sharp turn. Through all of the muffled shouts and clangs outside, there was the staccato rhythm of his fingernails tapping against the steering wheel.

Disciple pushed a few blankets aside only for a stack of papers to slide directly onto her face. "Are we close?"

"No. Get ready to get out-- _Stay down!" _He reached an arm behind him to knock another stack of papers onto the gap Disciple made, ignoring her protests. "As soon as I tell you, we need to run for it. It's a free for all out here."

"How is it better meowt there than it is in here?" Disciple snapped. She wanted with every inch of her being to spring up and judge the situation for herself, but some shining voice of reason inside her admitted that giving the circle away would be disastrous.

"It's hard to drive through traffic and the occasional dead body! There are subjuggulators about, you dumb nooksucker, and they're starting to peek into scuttlebuggies. If any of them wanted to, they could confiscate the one we're in, and then where would your revolution be?"

"Stop bickering," Signless said in a tone that allowed no argument (Disciple recognized it from the woman who raised him). He reached over and threw the edge of a blanket over Disciple's head. "If we're at each other's throats all the gogdamn time, we'll never survive this hell of a road trip. Misraa, it's on you."

But Disciple had a feeling that the driver had already tuned out. "_Redglare_," he hissed out in one long curse.

_Probably imagining what he'll say to her if we get out of this alive._ Disciple knew what she'd say, to both Redglare and Misraa.

From then on, road and safety regulations were ignored. Disciple and Signless could only hold onto each other as the scuttlebuggy picked up speed and jostled wildly for every hairpin turn Misraa made. The tealblood partly rolled down one of the front windows to shout warnings at pedestrians, and the chaos outside was no longer muffled. There were screams and angry shouts of fear and confusion that made Disciple's every muscle tense. Occasionally, a fist, a rock, or what looked like a club would hit a back window.

Soon the scuttlebuggy ground to a halt. Misraa rolled up the window, and the noise lessened to a dull roar.

"Is it a riot?" Disciple finally asked.

He killed the engine. "No. It's probably just the subjuggulators having fun." He stepped outside and yanked open the back door, leaving Disciple and Signless to dig their own way out of the back seat as he went to unlock the trunk.

They were standing in an alley that was by no means safe or far from whatever was going on in the crowds. Dozens of trolls rushed past, sparing the group no more attention than it took to see that the alley was a dead end.

Misraa hastened Dolorosa out of the trunk. Her jade eyes darted around nervously, flexing her fingers with their sharpened nails. 

"What the fuck is going on?" she demanded.

"I don't know! Our first and foremost concern should be our survival!" Misraa cried.

"The rooftops," Disciple said. She scanned the high walls of the alley, spotting a few hand and footholds that might hold their weight. Misraa balked, but coming from down the street, the screeching sound of metal being wrenched apart interrupted whatever protests he was about to voice.

"I'll help you!" Disciple urged. "Come on!"

Misraa was dead weight and none of her friends were as adept at climbing as Disciple, but she managed to drag and manhandle all of them to the flat rooftop above.

The new vantage point granted them a front-row seat of what was happening in the streets. A dozen or so huge subjuggulators smashed windows and used their fingers to paint childish drawings across scuttlebuggies, shopfronts and whatever private property came across their way. The vandalism was done casually but with a great deal of satisfaction. The unfortunate souls that got underfoot were kicked away, but a great relief was that Disciple did not see the raging blood lust purplebloods were infamous for. People fled in swarms.

"There aren't any drones," she said, but it was hard to be hopeful when trolls were being trampled before her eyes. "So I don't think the goal is to kill people. I think they're trying to stir up fear."

"I don't think the subjuggulators are acting quite on their own." Dolorosa frowned. "The Condesce would kill them all if she found out they were being such a disruption without her permission. But why would she let them loose?"

"I don't know yet," Signless said lowly. His fists were clenched, teeth bared as he stared down at the chaos. "But we can't just stand here and do nothing!"

"I thought you might say something like that," Misraa said. He moved so quickly Signless didn't know what hit him until it was too late. Ballpoint pen in hand, Misraa came up behind him and clicked it against his neck. Signless's furious expression slackened and he went down, unconscious.

But Dolorosa could move quickly too. In the blink of an eye, her hand was wrapped around Misraa's scrawny neck, and she lifted him off the ground with no visible effort. Disciple, hissing in distress, dove to Signless's side. A single drop of candy red blood welled up from a pinprick needle wound on his neck. "There's a pulse!" she cried, shoulders slumping in relief. She cradled her friend's head in her lap and let Dolorosa do the dirty work for now.

"Explain yourself," Dolorosa said darkly. If she didn't relax her hold on Misraa, Disciple realized, then it would be difficult for him to muster the breath to answer. But she got a little satisfaction from seeing the rat squirm, and said nothing.

Misraa, baring his teeth and wheezing, scrabbled at Dolorosa's slender arm to no avail. There wasn't much hope that he could break away through brute force. "Let me down," he croaked. After a moment's deliberation, Dolorosa obliged, but roughly. 

Misraa took a gasping breath, but didn't drop the ferocious scowl contorting his features. "If we let this guy down there to stick his neck out and challenge the subjuggulators, then Redglare's whole plan is thrown off-kilter! Don't you understand some form of _secrecy_, and maybe even _minding your own business_, is crucial to staying alive?"

"Are you sure there isn't something you're not telling us about this plan?"

"I've told you all I know. Redglare knows the rest, and I'm fairly eager to get to her so I can dump you assholes into her waiting arms and take off. She'll have plenty to say, I'm sure. She always does."

"What's in the pen?" The jade's free hand plucked the innocent-looking weapon out of Misraa's shirt pocket and held it between the tips of two tapered claws, out of his reach. 

"_That_ is my utility pen," Misraa turned bright teal, like a wriggler denied a favorite toy. "I jabbed Signless with a little sedative. If nothing's managed to kill him yet, I highly doubt this will. It'll wear off in two or three hours with no adverse affects."

"Two or three hours? That's not good if we find ourselves running away from subjuggulators!" Disciple growled.

Misraa shrugged. "I thought you were the master of stealth. I've no choice but to trust you'll find us a little cranny to hide away, huntress."

"Three strikes and you're out," Dolorosa said quietly. "The first strike was when we first met in the factory. This is your second. Don't do anything else I dislike." She released Misraa's neck, turning to Signless and Disciple and kneeling next to them with a stony expression.

As Disciple watched Misraa rub his neck, not quite suppressing a wince when his fingers grazed the tender flesh, she knew that these threatening actions were nothing Signless would approve of. _But he'll understand. _And though it felt a little like a betrayal to think it: _It's not like he's awake to see it. Maybe he doesn't even have to know._

Handing off Signless so Dolorosa could check his welfare for herself, Disciple stood and scanned for any suitable shadowy corners, abandoned lofts or attics that could provide shelter. "A little cranny, huh?"

* * *

### Twix

Running away from the sun itself was a task doomed to fail, but Twix was trying their hardest.

The streets were deserted because people were sensible enough not to stick around when the marketplace wasn't exactly the safest place to be. At least the subjuggulators had been forced to cease their play. Twix did not encounter anyone, friend or foe, as they pushed themselves to get _away _from the Handmaiden, the Grand Highblood, and the bodies.

The troll in their arms was a lanky man about a head taller than they were and weighing much more than seemed possible for his skinny frame. He hadn't given a name, and was too preoccupied with pain and the immediate danger to say much of anything at all. Brown bruises and cuts mottled his grey skin, and brown blood was smeared all over the front of Twix's uniform. They hadn't stopped to check the full extent of his injuries, but he was still alive. They hoped to keep him that way.

As the sun continued its ascent, light warmed Twix's back like a blazing bonfire. The troll hissed and struggled away from the light, so Twix wasted a precious minute to stop and wrap him in Dualscar's cloak.

_Is he like a vampire? Is he going to turn into dust? The crew is going to be wondering where I am. Oh, shit. Oh, shit._

The AR, at least, was able to retain an almost indifferent calm. 

TT: We're really fucked if security cameras are a thing that exist, but I think you should consider breaking into a shop.

A wrecked car blocked a narrow road between two lopsided buildings. All around, windows were smashed and fresh, bright graffiti covered every clean surface. Twix knew what the paint actually was, and wanted to hurl. "Right," they panted, hesitating for a moment before rushing past the car wreck and down the narrow road.

It was shadowed here, but soon it wasn't going to be dark enough for the man to be safe. Twix perked up at the sight of a smashed window above their head. It would be a tight fit and a stretch to reach, but it was something.

A faded curtain blocked whatever or whoever lay beyond the window. Twix lay the man down softly, but it was impossible to move him without causing pain.

"Sorry about the manhandling," they muttered. The troll gave a noncommittal grunt and shifted against the brick wall. As Twix turned to pick up a crushed pop can lying on the ground, they could feel his eyes on their back.

They tossed the can into the window. There was the sound of startled movement in the room above, a quiet hiss and a hushed word.

TT: More than one person

_And I can't let them see me. _"I'm gonna need that cloak back," they told the troll. He didn't look exactly happy about it, but he unwrapped it from around his body and tossed it to them. Twix shrugged it on and shoved the hood down just as three clawed blades shoved the yellow curtain aside.

An olive woman with horns like a cat's ears bristled down at them, crouched with one foot up on the windowsill like she was about to leap down with her clawed gloves outstretched. 

For a troll, she was actually pretty small, so Twix was mildly surprised to meet someone that wouldn't cast them in their shadow. A wild mane of tangled hair made her seem bigger than she actually was, but regardless of size, the lithe muscle beneath the tattered fabric of her dress and the sheer ferocity in her eyes told Twix all they needed to know about their odds against her.

The human held up their hands immediately, well aware of how they trembled. There was no bravado left for another confrontation with an armed troll. Any other one of ambassadors might have stood a chance against this woman, maybe even against the Grand Highblood, but Twix's strengths were never in physical combat. They were tired.

"We don't want to fight," they said. They jerked their head towards the injured troll, who followed their example and sat extremely still, hands raised in a nonthreatening display. "Please. Take him in until nightfall."

Green eyes looked between Twix and the injured man, then back again. She seemed to conclude that there was no threat, and the woman's demeanor changed completely. She softened and allowed the blades in her gloves to retreat with a flick of her wrists. "Yes." A pause, and the woman tilted her head a fraction. Twix could just barely hear the hum of another voice speaking softly, its owner out of view. 

"Of course," the woman continued. "We'll take you both. This isn't actually our hive, so for meow I'd say it's fair game for whoever needs it."

"For meow," Twix repeated, a bit dumbly. 

The woman broke into a wide smile, sharp canines gleaming. It suited her. "Cat puns. Can you lift your friend up?"

Twix managed to heft their "friend's" considerable weight up high enough that the olive woman was able to pull him up onto the windowsill. The undignified struggle wasn't without pain on his part, and there was a lot of cursing from everyone. 

Gentler hands reached into view, helping the man duck inside and supporting him once the feat had been managed. Twix glimpsed flowing black sleeves and a stretch of sheer jade fabric, but from within the room, the window was waist-high and didn't reveal the person's face.

Under the cloak, the heat was almost unbearable at this point. Sweat trickled down the back of Twix's neck and their concealed uniform felt grossly drenched. The sweat could've have been dealt with, but they were also coated in the blood of a stranger. The stench was overpowering, and Twix's breath started to quicken when they thought too hard about recent events. _A shower, _they thought miserably. _And then therapy._

"Mow you," the olive woman leaned out and offered an outstretched hand. 

Twix took a step back. "Sorry. I have places to be. Thank you, though. You're kind people."

"Don't be ridiculous," the woman insisted. Her warm expression tinged with worry, eyes darting past Twix and towards the rapidly brightening sky.

A rough hand reached out and tapped the woman on the arm. It was the bronzeblood they tried so hard to save and still knew nothing about. "I think you should listen to them," he told her. He pointed a crooked finger down at Twix. Their heart sunk when they realized the words forming on his lips. "They're not a troll. They're something else entirely."

_Shit._

TT: There's no way she's going to believe that

TT: Play it off and we'll get the fuck out of here

The olive woman gripped the windowsill and glanced cautiously behind her. "You mean," she said. "An alien?"

TT: Shit

Suddenly they realized why she seemed so familiar. Someone met in a passing glance, she had been one of many in the crowd Twix and Roxy had marched through to get to the Cuttlefish. The woman studied Twix from the hunch of their shoulders to the scuffs on their white boots, which were peeking out from under the cloak. There was a flash of recognition.

"That bruise on your face. . ." She trailed off into a silence that Twix wasn't in a hurry to fill. 

"Does it have a name?" came an impatient call from somewhere behind the oliveblood. She reached behind her and pushed someone in a ruffled teal suit away from the window without taking her eyes off Twix.

Twix gave an awkward shrug. "Tell me _your_ names."

"They call me the Disciple," said the oliveblood. "Here with me is the Dolorosa --"

"-- _don't you dare!_\--" The teal suit was back.

"-- and the Acquirer. I'm guessing you haven't had a very good Alternian experience so far?"

Twix couldn't hold back a snort.

"Yeah. We'll swear to secrecy if you just talk with us for a moment." The Disciple held out her hand. "Please. It's a long story, but we're revolutionaries."

_Fuck. I think this counts as getting too involved with politics._ "You have five minutes to tell it." Twix took the hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew I'm still alive!
> 
> As well as putting this chapter together, I've made a few edits throughout this whole fanfic for spelling (Bro this whole time I've been writing Dorolosa instead of Dolorosa and Condensce instead of Condesce. Might have missed correcting a few of those so pls tell me if you spot any errors).
> 
> Except for Misraa and Cinyie, I don't think the trolls ocs are going to make a lot of appearances. I have a rough outline, but plot is turning out to be whatever I happen to pull out of my ass in the heat of the moment. Probably some more minor edits in the future?
> 
> Also I was writing Psiioniic's speech "Like thith" and I've mostly gotten rid of that because I think it's annoying to read and not a great way to write a lisp. He still has a lisp, you just have to imagine it.
> 
> Everyone's comments make my day, and honestly thanks for reading this far lol.


	12. Rewrite info + unfinished chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to rewrite this fic! Thank you for all the support you guys have given me over the year I've been working on Foreign Dignitaries. Your comments have all been so sweet! There's a lot of things that I like about this fic, but there are also some things I want to change. That's why I'm going to rewrite it. Foreign Dignitaries will stay up, but I've already posted the beginnings of the rewrite as a separate fic called Foreign Ambassadors. I've made them a part of the same series on AO3.
> 
> The rewrite will be essentially the same story, and there's going to be a fair mix of new writing and stuff that's just copied and pasted from Foreign Dignitaries. I've decided on an ending and need to go back and write the buildup for it into the story. The little details I change will add up.
> 
> I'm open to answering any questions you guys might have in the comments. I understand if you guys don't want to read the rewrite, but thanks for clicking on this train wreck of a fic in the first place. Here's a list of the stuff I want to include in the rewrite, and after that there's the unfinished chapter 11:

  * There's going to be separate routes and endings for each ancestor, like a datesim
  * the idea is that there's going to be more romance and character interaction with Twix.
  * That 12th Perigree's Eve Ball I mentioned in chapter 1 and then forgot about? That's getting buildup
  * Twix's backstory and the most of the twist stuff I was saving for the end gets pushed to the front. I think the surprise I was saving for the end is just info that needs to be known at the start so the story makes more sense
  * We get the Condesce's motives. I will be extra careful to spell her name right
  * I'll say what the deal is with the Auto Responder and his situation with being the _Lover's_ AI
  * The Purge was something I threw in on the spot and didn't really think through. I haven't been happy with the way I incorporated it into Foreign Dignitaries. I don't think it was really necessary, with Alternia already being a shitty place. Now the subjuggulators are going to be causing problems that Twix, Redglare, and Signless's circle will meddle in, but it won't be the Purge
  * Story will continue to have switching POVs, but the Reader's POV will become 2nd person unless you guys riot in the comments. The nickname Twix is sticking around because I have one (1) joke set up for it
  * We get to meet everyone Twix hasn't met yet. I am looking forward to Mindfang
  * Twix and the other humans are still going to have to sneak around, but they will get slightly more freedom
  * The Hazardous Garden will come into play
  * humor will always stay

### Twix

Twix found themselves in a small, messy, but fairly clean bedroom. The sparse decor was themed in black and yellow, and electronic parts were gathered in piles wherever there was a corner to fill. The bits and pieces of scrap were oddly organic. A desk, shoved next to another one of those ugly alien slime tubs, had an assortment of tools and what looked like an unfinished desktop computer taking up most of the surface.

It was obvious that nobody in the room belonged here, as for starters none of them were yellowbloods. Troll and human alike were dusty, weary, and covered in varying stages of filth and injury.

Twix leaned against the wall by the window, after ensuring the curtains were in place to block out the sun's wrath. The motley crew of trolls, all different blood colors, regarded them from the opposite side of the room.

The Dolorosa was a tall, elegant figure in a beautifully embroidered black and jade dress. The fact that she was covered head to toe in grime didn't even occur to Twix at first-- the woman's skin, such a pale gray it was almost white, seemed to glow. She looked as though she belonged on a runway with a spotlight shining behind her.

The unnamed bronze troll sat against the wall with his arms crossed. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes watchful. Twix couldn't get a good read on him, and neither could the AR. Trolls, they were starting to realize, were _much_ hardier than humans.

And then Twix got a good look at the man in the ruffled suit, who Disciple had introduced as the Acquirer. His horns were angular, like the curve of his hard jaw, and they bracketed his chin. The thick lenses on his round glasses were smudged. An innocent-looking ballpoint pen poked out of his white shirt pocket.

"Wait," The Acquirer said, horror dawning on his face. "Take the shades off."

TT: It's

TT: Greeve

TT: Misraa

Twix did as he asked, jabbed a finger at him and cried, "It's--"

"--_you_!" Misraa finished angrily. "You're not a mutant, you're an entire fucking alien!"

"You're a corrupt lawman?"

"Not by choice! It's complicated!"

"Misraa," Dolorosa said frigidly. Her voice sounded like spoken cursive. "Wouldn't it have been helpful to mention you know one of the. . . the aliens? How do you two know each other?"

"They broke into my scuttlebuggy!"

All eyes darted to Twix, to see exactly what they had to say to that. Twix found themselves laughing in a situation in which it really wasn't appropriate. "It was unlocked, so I wouldn't really call it breaking in. Besides, you threatened to shoot me afterwards. Are we even?"

"Not even close," Misraa hissed. "You told me you were a mutant, and I let you go because I run on a tight schedule and you weren't worth the trouble. What are you doing in the city? What's your angle?"

"I am a human, and Her Impervious Condescension invited me among others of my kind to this planet. I didn't lie about being a mutant, because I'm still not sure what that means for you trolls. You just assumed something, and it worked out for me. Before I say anything else, tell me about how you people are revolutionaries." They carefully hung Dirk's shades from the collar of their shirt. The AR's presence was a secret that didn't need to be shared. "I don't have much time."

Disciple stepped forward, eyes drinking in all the little details of Twix's face. "To make a long story short-- we think the way the Hemospectrum functions is wrong. You've seen it for yourself, haven't you? If the color of someone's blood runs warm, their life is considered worthless. We should all be equal, and we should stop killing each other at the Empress's demand. Dolorosa and I are part of a group that travels from place to place, hosting rallies and spreading the sermons of our leader. His name is Signless. He's a mutant. The goal is to convince others join our cause until there's enough support to rise up and break the system. Maybe, one day, everyone will live in peace."

Twix kept their expressions impassive. "Where is Signless right now?"

Disciple glanced at Dolorosa. The jade woman was still glaring at Misraa.

"Signless is, uh, here." Misraa added reluctantly. He gestured towards the slime tub. "He's unconscious though, which I'll admit is my fault. Hell, I guess you could try waking him up and seeing what he has to say."

Dolorosa looked like she might have protested, but Disciple held her back. "This is a pretty special scenario," she told her gently. "We might not get another chance to talk with one of the humans, and Signless is better at selling our cause than we are."

Twix couldn't see a hint of anybody or anything floating around in the thick green slime. Honestly, it was kind of gross, and not something they wanted to touch if they didn't have to. When no one said anything else in a few beats of awkward silence, Twix sighed and crossed over to the tub. 

"So. . . do I just. . ." Twix hesitantly knocked against the shell with the back of their hand. Nothing happened. "I don't understand what this thing is. Is it a bed?"

"The recuperacoon?" Disciple watched it nervously, as if it were going to explode at any moment. This didn't strike Twix as a positive thing. "It's filled with sopor slime. It helps us sleep, eases the day terrors, y'know. Visions of carnage and stuff like that."

"Wait. Are you being serious?"

Disciple didn't get a chance to answer. A man burst out of the recuperacoon headfirst, gasping, flinging slime everywhere, and nearly giving poor Twix a heart attack. He cried something intelligible, accidentally sucking in a glob of slime in his blind effort to get the words out. He descended into a coughing fit.

Twix wasn't sure how to help him or if they even could, so they just stood there with their hands clasped behind their back, watching in silent dismay. When Dolorosa rushed forward, they stepped aside to let her do what she would.

"I had a vision!" Signless (at least Twix guessed this was Signless) managed to get out between bouts of rattling coughs. Dolorosa rubbed his back patiently until the coughing subsided. He continued after a thankful nod and a smile, rubbing the slime away from his eyes. "--Thanks. Anyway, I saw something, and it's going to sound crazy."

"Everything you say is always crazy. Did you swallow any of that sopor just now?" Misraa said suspiciously.

"What would happen then?" Twix asked.

"Sopor slime does stuff to your thinkpan, and it's not meant to be ingested. I've had a couple cases where lusii have failed to teach their charges this, and that ends up causing problems for everyone."

"I didn't swallow any." Signless shot a glare at Misraa. Twix wondered what everyone had against him. "I have a lot to say to you, but let me tell you guys about what I saw first-- who are you?"

The question was directed at Twix. They straightened and cleared their throat, not looking at Signless anywhere below the collarbone. The thickness of the slime coating his stocky body made it hard to tell whether or not he was wearing clothes. "I'm an alien. You. . . can call me Twix. I take it you're Signless?"

His jaw dropped. He stared at Twix for a few flabbergasted moments, so they figured they could do the same without breaking propriety. The first thing that stuck out to Twix was the bright cherry red of Signless's eyes. Darkleer hadn't mentioned a red caste other than burgundy, so blood color must have been his mutation. _Interesting_. Twix took note of shaggy hair, plastered down by slime, and nubby horns. However, those didn't seem like abnormalities. There wasn't any other outwardly visible sign of Signless being different from any other troll.

_I can't really blame the guy for being caught off-guard,_ Twix thought. _He was asleep like thirty seconds ago, and I'm interrupting a prophetic dream or something._

"Yes," Signless said when Twix was finished with their short study of his small horns. "I am."

"It's nice to meet you. Your friends have filled me in on your cause, and I'd like to hear this vision if that's alright."

"It is. I just--" Signless winced, fingers shooting up to massage his temples. He barked a dry laugh. "I really do look insane, don't I? To be clear, how much did my friends tell you?"

**//Signless's vision right here was going to be of Horrorterrors. They're briefly mentioned in the prologue, and this chapter was where I just remembered them and Twix's backstory. In the rewrite, the Horrorterrors are going to have a bigger impact on Twix than they do in Foreign Dignitaries, because they DID kill/drive insane the entirety of their old crew.**


End file.
